Old Tales of the Shire: Wife of the Thain
by LA Knight
Summary: It was often said in other families that long ago one of the Took ancestors must have taken a fairy wife. That was, of course, absurd, BUT...." - The Hobbit, Chapter One, Page 2. Nominated for MEFA2008.
1. In the Land of the Shire

**Prologue**

**In the Land of the Shire**

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_"In the land of twilight under the moon..."_

_-In the Land of Twilight_

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Lush. Alive. Vibrant.

The Shire, with all of its gentle and kind life.

Forests that creak with the secret whisperings of trees. Sun glinting of stones. Tiny shoots creeping through the earth.

Rivers that rush and gush like the blood of the land, giving the Shire life. Rippling streams and giggling brooks. Serene, almost sacred groves in the woods where children hide and play, and pretend to be kings and queens.

Gentle breezes bringing the sweet smell of heather and wildflowers. Brilliant skies like blue glass and tiny wisps of white cloud.

And a secret, a secret that is making its way into the land of the Halflings. Like poison, or ambrosia, or the rushing flood of torrential rain waters, it was coming- unstoppable.

And with it, the makings of history.


	2. The Song

**Chapter One**

**The Song**

_"It was often said (in other families) that long ago one of the Took ancestors must have taken a fairy wife. That was, of course, absurd, **but**..."_

_- The Hobbit,_ Chapter One, Page 2

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He heard singing, a sweet melody on the air, silver chimes and reed pipes, summer rain and spring mist and winter snowfall.

Isumbras Took left his home one day to follow the song through the woods, through fields, crashing through darkness and stumbling through daylight. Dawn came, and dusk, and night found him, and day held him.

The rain drenched him, the wind chilled him. The sun burned him, the shade cooled him. The moon lit his path, and the stars gave him hope. He wandered the Shire, following the song that pulled at his soul...

...and he found her.

**Oo8oo8oo8oO**

I don't own LotR or the Hobbit. This is a series of drabbles/droubbles.


	3. The Lady of the Lake

**_Chapter Two_**

**_The Lady of the Lake_**

_"Lady... I am yours... let me hold you in my arms forever more..."_

_- Lady, _by Kenny Rogers

_._

_._

Hair like the light of the autumn moon falls, a cascade of windblown curls, down a swan white back. Silver-gray, feral eyes like some wild creature sears him to the bone. Clothed in silks like the twilight skies alight with pale stars, she dances as if made of wind and water upon the surface of the lake.

He worships with silent gaze, knowing the sweetness of hope, as well as the bitter taste of despair, for how can a plain and simple hobbit, Thain or not, tame such a lovely creature?

"Lady..." He moans, and despairs.

**Oo8oo8oo8oO**

I don't own LotR or the Hobbit. This is a series of drabbles/droubbles.


	4. Flight

**_Chapter Three_**

**_Flight_**

_"A dream of silver swans swimming in my mind, lost in isolation..."_

_- Spiral (Don't Fall), the Cruxshadows_

_._

_._

She hears a yearning moan.

She's frightened into flight.

Flitting across the water, she doesn't look back to see what sighted her, what creature managed to glimpse one of the Hidden People.

A blue shadow against the darkness, stars and moon alight on the fairness of her skin as she glides away, like a pure, white swan touched silver by the night's magic.

Suddenly she turns, catching a glimpse of the upturned face of the Thain, and for a moment, her heart stops in her chest.

Then she's gone. A silver swan swims upon the surface of the lake.

**Oo8oo8oo8oO**

I don't own LotR or the Hobbit. This is a series of drabbles/droubbles.


	5. Need

**_Chapter Four_**

**_Need_**

_"Come live with me and be my love..."_

_- the Passionate Shepherd to His Love, _C. Marlowe

_._

_._

Cast into the depths of his heart's darkness, he languishes for want of her. Distraught, he returns home empty handed, without the maiden he would claim as his bride.

Day by day, he slips deeper into darkness, shunning the sun and all those who love him.

He longs ever for the steel edge of the knife to leave the mark of its sweet kisses upon his wrists, for how can he live without the swan maiden he has taken into his heart? Life is worthless without the lady upon the lake.

Surely he must have her, or die.

**Oo8oo8oo8oO**

I don't own LotR or the Hobbit.


	6. Awaiting the Lady

**_Chapter Five_**

**_Awaiting the Lady_**

_"In winter when the fields are white... In spring when the woods are getting green... In summer when the days are long... In Autumn when the leaves are brown..."_

_- Humpty Dumpty's Recitation, _by Lewis Carroll_._

_._

At least he decided he could live no longer alone.

He journeyed back to the lake that had held such a sweet promise, and waited. For many months, he waited. Winter came, and froze him. Spring came, and cheered him. Summer came, and burned him. The world around him changed from glistening white, to pale jade, to rich emerald life. Snow fell, rain fell, and the wind blew softly. Every minute was as an hour, every hour as a day, and every day as a year.

Autumn's Eve came, and a silver swan landed upon the lake.


	7. Are You the One?

**Are You the One?**

_"Tell me are you the one? And tell me are you for real? ... And tell me who are you?"_

_-Are You the One?_ by Miranda Sex Garden

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Maddened by love and longing, he flings himself out into the water of the lake. He burns with the cold of it. He is numb with it. His love sears his soul.

The silver swan starts in fright. The light on her wings is like pearl. Her eyes are wild, her wings move as if to fly away.

"Wait!"

Such pain. Such tender, gentle love. How can she deny him?

"Wait, please! Please..."

Slowly, she settles, her eyes upon him. She waits. This strange mortal creature, with his eyes bright with tears, his heart full of hurt... she will wait a little for him.

"Are you she? Are you the one? Long did I search for you- year upon year. Are you the one I have sought for so long?"


	8. Promises

**Promises**

_"Cross your heart and hope to die, stick a needle in your eye..."_

-A common children's saying

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He sloshes through the water.

His body is numb to the cold. His soul is on fire.

He does not feel it when he cuts his foot upon a jagged edged rock. The red blood is lost in the blackness of the water. He does not feel the pain.

His entire body cries out in pain and joy when she gazes upon him. He feels the weight of her regard, her curiosity, her every thought as it passes behind her eyes.

The Thain has never seen a swan with eyes like sea opals before.

"Please... if you are her... do not leave me alone to suffer and die... please..."

In her eyes, eyes like the ocean wrought into great, glittering jewels, he sees her promise just before she takes flight. As his wounded heart bleeds a little more, he clasps that promise to him like a healing balm, hoping he has not gone mad from love and grief.


	9. A Promise Kept

**Chapter Eight**

**A Promise Kept**

_"How do I know this promise will be kept?"_

_- The White Witch, the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ by CS Lewis

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All the long day, he waits upon the shore, hoping she will come. He counts each second as the sun sets.

Night falls. His soul quails, for in his heart, he cannot believe in her promise.

Then... the trumpet of a swan. He turns towards heaven, and in the sky, moonlight glinting upon snowy plumage, are eight swans. The descend to the lake's calm surface, and the white bird in their center dives beneath the water.

A wolf howls. The Thain looks toward the sound, then back.

His lady and love stands before him in the shallows of the lake.


	10. The Proposal

**Chapter Nine**

**The Proposal**

_"Why didn't you wait for me?"_

_- _Wesley, _the Princess Bride_

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"How could you lose hope?" Her voice is heavy with diamond tears. "How could you think I would not come?" Her heart pounds. She has never been so close to a mortal, has never felt such strange longing. "Why didn't you wait for me?"

"I did!"

"But not in your heart. And because of this..."

Secretly, she is willing to choose him, a mortal life and a mortal man.

"I will do anything you ask!" He swears recklessly. "I will give you whatever you desire, whatever you ask! I will travel the world for you! I... I..." His mind casts about for something desperate and sincere to say.

"You would not do this for my sake, Isumbras," she whispers sadly.

"I would! I would go, and... and bring you a necklace of icicles, slippers of glass, a dress of rose petals! I would bring you a cape of swan feathers, a crown of moonlight! I would bring you the moon itself, on... on a chain! And bring it all back in the fur of a white wolf!

"All these things I would do for you, if you would but be my wife!"


	11. The Tasks

**Chapter Ten**

**The Tasks**

_"Ask him to do me this courtesy... And ask for a like favour from me, and then he'll be a true love of mine... Love imposes impossible tasks... But none more than any heart would ask..."_

-_Scarborough Fair,_ Old English Ballad

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.

He waits in agony for her reply. Will she not be his wife?

When she turns her glimmering eyes upon him, they are wet and flecked with gold, as if she struggles not to weep.

"Because you doubted, the laws of my kind say I must set you the task you appoint yourself," she replies, her voice like icy salt tears, drops of winter. Her heart shudders with the pain of the cruel thing she must say. "So that is what you must do."

"Bring me a necklace of icicles that will not melt,

"Bring me slippers of glass that are as comfortable as if they were of silk,

"Bring me a dress of white rose petals, that have no stitch or seam,

"Bring me a cape of swan feathers- but they must be freely given. You cannot kill the creatures they come from."

Isumbras feels as if he may die. How can he do these things?

His lady continues on with the trials of hell.

"Bring me a crown of moonlight that I can touch and wear,

"Bring me the moon itself on a chain,

"And finally, bring it all back to me wrapped in the fur of a white wolf- but do not harm him, nor kill him. This you must do before a year and a day has passed. Then, and only then, shall I be your bride."


	12. The Journey Begins

**Chapter Eleven**

**The Journey Begins**

_"One night the clock struck twelve, the door open wide... and took a step outside..."_

_- Dark Chest of Wonders, _Nightwish

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In an agonized stupor, he stumbles back to his house under his hill. He is the Thain of the Shire, Isumbras Took, but he is defeated by the quest his true love has set for him. How is this possible?

Aching, exhausted, defeated, he casts about him, among all of his people, to answer the question: how shall he do this great work?

The answer comes from his sister, Amaranth.

"Go to the Dwarves," she says. Her flaxen hair shines in the moonlight as they wander the gardens. "They are great miners and craftsmen. They can create anything. If anyone can do this thing, they can."

Isumbras lay himself down to sleep, but a fit was upon him. In a daze, he packed his bags and set off in the night for the Misty Mountains, and the Dwarves.


	13. The Mountains

**Chapter Twelve**

**The Mountains**

_"From purple mountains' majesty..."_

_- America the Beautifu_

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Winter.

Winter is a bitter, brutal thing in the Misty Mountains. It sucks at the breath in your lungs, cuts at your face with its icy lash, burns you to the bare bone with cold. If you are not careful, it will freeze you to sleep, and sleep will hand you over most willingly to death.

Isumbras staggers through the glittering white peaks and valleys of the mountain range as a blizzard's hating winds shove at him and sear his throat. He is searching for dwarves, but he is certain the only thing he will get is death.

All that goads him on is the gift, the one his lady gave to him before she sent him on his way.

_"My name is Anoreloth."_

Anoreloth. Flower of the Sun and Stars.

It is the heat and fire of her name that help him onward until he collapses at the doors of the Dwarf Halls, half-frozen and exhausted, and so tired that he slips into sleep in the bank of icy, lethal softness of snow, too worn and weary to care anymore.


	14. Another Set of Tasks

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Another Set of Tasks**

_"There she weaves by night and day a magic web with colors gay... she weaveth steadily and little other care hath she..."_

- _the Lady of Shallott, _by Lord Alfred Tennyson

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The lady who loves the Thain sits beside her window, weaving steadily at her great loom. The cloth she weaves is beautiful, shimmering in the candle light of her bower. When she is finished with the weaving of the emerald cloth, she will weave the white, and the gold. And then she will make cloth from white bear's fur.

And when she is done with that, she will weave cloth that looks like the sun, and cloth that looks like the moon, and cloth that looks like the stars.

She knows that her love is not the only one who will face a task to complete. This cloth will be needed. The emerald, white, and gold are her Thain's wedding garments. She will take pains that they are perfect. The cloth of fur is for her love as well. But the celestial cloth... that is hers. She will need it for her task.

Her task will be love. Her lord must love her. She must prove it... or her people will punish them both.


	15. Safe in the Shadows

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Safe in the Shadows**

_"_Safe in the shadows, deep in the night_..."_

_- Chasing Shadows, _Uriah Heep

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Darkness.

The Thain awakens, crying out.

A tiny flame blooms, illuminating the rough crags of a Dwarf face, reddish beard streaked with gray.

"Awake are ye?" The Dwarf says gruffly.

He nods.

Why is he here? Why is he not at home in his comfy bed in his comfortable hobbit hole in the Shire? Why is he in the near darkness with a Dwarf he's never seen before?

Then... remembrance. The tasks for Anoreloth, strange and mysterious lady who promises to be his wife if he completes these tasks.

His heart aches as he remembers the tears in her eyes and in her voice.

"What brings ye here?"

"I need help," he says, and begins his tale.


	16. The Dwarf King

**Chapter Fifteen**

**The Dwarf King**

_"Far o'er the Misty Mountains cold, through dungeons deep and caverns old, we must away ere break of day to seek the pale enchanted gold..."_

- _The Hobbit: the Movie, _JRR Tolkien (1977)

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The Dwarf that sat erect and regal upon the great throne wrought of black granite had a beard like glowing coals and eyes like gleaming bronze that burned into the Thain's until he felt the weight of that gaze searing the back of his brain. He felt he ought to tremble, but after seeing the wild beauty of Anoreloth, he had no room in him for awe anymore.

"What do you seek?" The Dwarf King demanded.

"To learn the arts of the Dwarves."

"You wish to steal our secrets, then?" The King demanded harshly. "Ought we to slay you here and now, then?"

"I seek not your secrets for myself. The woman I would have as my bride has given me a set of tasks, and I must complete them in a year and day from the Autumn Equinox, which has just now passed, if I would have her as my wife."

"And how can Dwarves help you?"

"I must make her a necklace of icicles that will not melt, and slippers of glass that feel as if they are made of silk. Please... I love her. I would do anything for her. Please, great King, will you not give me some help? Any help at all, sir?"

Silence, there was, for a long time. The Dwarf King, whose name is forgotten by Hobbits, pondered the Thain of the Shire for a long space, seeing the agonized love in his eyes for the woman who had set him such cruel tasks.

"We will help you," the King said. "Come with me to meet the only one who can do what you need."

So Isumbras followed the Dwarf King to meet the Prince of Smiths.


	17. The Smith

**Chapter Sixteen**

**The Smith**

_"In what distant deeps or skies burnt the fire of thine eyes... What the hand dare seize the fire... What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil... burning bright...__"_

- _The Tiger, _William Blake

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Wildfire.

Searing heat blazed all around him, scalding his face and bare arms. He could feel the soles of his feet beginning to grow hot. Sweat rolled down his face as he followed the Dwarf King deeper inside the forge.

Sullen embers glowed crimson, and orange sparks leapt into the air, burning whatever they happened to land on in their mischievous delight.

Then, Isumbras Took saw the Smith.

Tall for a Dwarf, but short for one of the Big Folk, he had no great beard or thick, bulging muscles like the Dwarves. Instead, he was whipcord lean, his muscles rippling with power as he hammered a red hot blade on an anvil. His silver white hair was pulled back in a harsh, tight horsetail, revealing ears with very subtle, delicate points.

When he lifted the red hot metal with tongs and dropped it into a bucket of water, the steam hissing like a thousand serpents, he turned and looked at the Thain with wild, feral eyes like blue jewels.

"I will teach him," was all he said before taking out the sword from the water bucket and beginning to pound it again with the hammer.


	18. Apprentice

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Apprentice**

_"Your tomb is where your heart is... it feels like I've been buried alive by love... Your home is where the dark is... Embrace the fire indestructible...__"_

- _Buried Alive By Love, _HIM

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Pump the bellows.

Feed the fire, give it life.

Let it live. It cannot die, and neither can he. She is waiting for him.

.

The heat scorches him, turns his flesh red. The soles of his feet are blistered. His muscles ache, though not so much as they did in the beginning. The blisters do not hurt as much as they used to.

He is allowed to forge nails, that is all. He is covered in soot, burned and blackened. He is missing half of one eyebrow that was singed away. He is alone in the mountain halls, the only Halfling. What are his people doing without him? Is his sister doing as he had bid her, to govern in his stead?

His Master, the Smith Thorin, the half-Elf and half-Dwarf, orders him to pump the bellows and bring up his fire. He is only an apprentice yet. He must wait.

He is running out of time. He cannot afford to wait much longer.

.

Embrace the fire. Let yourself feel its love and power.

Think of life and immortality.

Creation.

Enter into the Crucible.

.

He now creates weapons. They will never be as a Dwarf would make, but he is only an apprentice.

He no longer feels the heat. The blisters have turned to calluses. It has taken less time than he expected. A month or two. It is the heart of winter. He has time.

But now he must forge a blade, a special blade. For he received a letter this day, borne by a white swan, a cob, with a gold collar around its neck. He marvels at it, but takes the missive. It tells him to forge a weapon, a blade of iron set with white stones.

Thorin agrees. It will be his test. He will meet the Living Flame, and it will work for him... or destroy him.


	19. White Fur

**Chapter Eighteen**

**White Fur**

_"...A long... cape, with fur on the collar..."_

- spoken by Sara Crewe, _A Little Princess_ (1994)

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People are starting to wonder.

Anoreloth does nothing with her time save eat, sleep a little, and weave. All the hours of the day and into the night she weaves the garments the Thain of the Shire will wear on the day they were wed. And he will wed her- she has utter faith in him. He will find a way to escape the trap they've set about themselves.

But her family, and others, are beginning to notice. Why does the lady weave so much? What is she weaving? Cloth for the sake of cloth? Or for something more practical? Why will she not speak?

And all the while, her father presses her to wed. But she has given her oath and her heart, and among her people, to be forsworn is a death sentence.

She has finished the wedding garments of white and green and gold. Now she gets her basket full of snowy fur. It is the fur of white bears, ice bears, the bears of the coldest parts of the world. It is the fur of the northern wolves, with their ice white coats. It is the fur of white foxes. And she will card it, spin it, and weave it. Then she will make her love a shirt to keep him warm, to heat his heart and breath, when her rival comes to freeze his soul.

He is her true love, and she must do what she must do to give them a chance.


	20. Journeyman

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Journeyman**

_"What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And What shoulder, and what art, Could twist the sinews of thy heart? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain..."_

- _The Tiger, _William Blake (again)

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The heat seared him, hotter than hell's blackest fire. He'd never felt such heat as this. It cut at him, licked at him and took his flesh away. But he ignored it, and worked.

Hammer and pound, thunder and clang. Beat the metal, make it obey.

Metal lives, it breathes, it feels. It wants to be worked, molded, shaped, but only by those who can command its love and respect.

Glitter and sparkle, diamond and crystal. A magic that gleams like frost, shines like ice. Silver and white gold and mithril, diamond and crystal and zirconia and white sapphire... all of it coming together like meltwater in the fiery heat of the furnace, hammered and pounded and molded by Dwarf craft backed by the love of a hobbit.

For you, my love, he whispers to the fire, to the darkness, the heat and metal and jewels. They are almost ready, almost...

Beside him is Thorin, ready with the magic of the Dwarves and the Elves. And into the blasting forge comes a little Dwarf lad carrying a great bucket. Inside this bucket is snow, snow that has not and will not melt in this forge unless Thorin wills it so.

Isumbras gives a cry.

It is done!

He hauls his testing piece from the forge with tongs and plunges it into the snow. It hisses and steams, filling the air with mist as well as smoke.

He pulls the piece out of the snow, and sees its beauty and perfection.

He has done it... he is now a Journeyman Smith.


	21. Sentencing

**Chapter Twenty**

**Sentencing**

_"No... have you lost your senses completely? He's a human! You're a mermaid!__"_

-spoken by King Triton to his daughter, _Disney's the Little Mermaid_

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Torture.

That is the price a noble of the royal house pays when they fraternize with one of the other Races. To taste mortality in anyway but that which is sanctioned by the Monarchy is a most heinous crime, and if you aren't nobility, it is often punished by death or exile.

Anoreloth is in danger of being tortured.

"How could you do this?! I will not let you disgrace your name, your position, your family, simply so you may behave like a trollop and wed some baseborn mortal!"

Her father raises the leather riding crop he carries often by his side and strikes her across the face.

"I love him," she whispers.

"You are mad!" He snarls, and hit her again. "You cannot love him! Say you are lying!"

"I love him."

The slap of leather against her skin.

"I love him."

Another blow raises a welt on her upraised arm.

"I love him, and I am sworn to him."

One more cutting lash of the riding crop, and then her father lowers his arm and snarls, "Very well. I can do nothing else to prevent your lunacy. Let us see how well you weave with broken fingers."


	22. The Necklace of Icicles

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**A Necklace of Icicles**

_"Ladies of New York! Frost yourselves!__"_

-spoken by Benjamin Barry, _How To Lose a Guy In 10 Days_

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Frost.

The lacy web of silver and white gold and mithril glimmers as if it is a lattice work of pale, sparkling frost, the chill breath of a kiss from the icy lips of a winter's night. The intricately intertwining chain of silvery metals is stronger than steel or stone, but elegant and delicate.

Ice.

Like jagged, lethal and lovely spikes of diamond clear ice, the crystal and diamond points hang from the chain like gleaming icicles. Some are even made of something like glass, frosted like the ice points that hang from roof edges as dawn breaks, hoary with the breath of winter.

He has done it. He has made a necklace of icicles that will not melt. Because they are cold, icy to the touch, like real ice. That is the spell that Thorin laid during the crafting.

Only the touch of his heart's dearest love can warm the icicles, and still they will not melt against the heat of his lady's skin.

One task is complete.


	23. The Life of a Prince

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**The Life of a Prince**

_"That... is my son, and your future king...__"_

-spoken by Mufasa, _Disney's__ the Lion King_

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Sickness.

Isumbras can smell the stench of illness as soon as he walks in the King's private audience chamber. And the Dwarf King's face is tight with grief.

"My King?" The Thain asks. "You summoned me?"

"Years ago, but in your time, there was an illness that hit the Shire. It killed several children. Somehow it's come to my Mountain. My son is sick. I need to know, Master Isumbras, if you know how to cure this sickness."

"Aye, I know how." He pulled out a small, leather ouch from one of his trouser pockets. Offering it to the king, he replied, "Longbottom Leaf, from the South Farthing. Smoking two pipes of this will clear up the sickness in his chest. You'll have to sweat the fever out of him."

"Is that all?" The King demanded, taking the bag of pipeweed.

"If he's your eldest or your only, you need to find a new heir. He'll be too weakened by the sickness to rule in your stead, Your Majesty."

"But he will live? And be whole?"

"Aye."

"Then you have saved the life of the Prince of the Dwarves. For that, I owe you a great gift. But now I must go to my son."

And the King was gone, leaving the bewildered and exhausted Thain to be escorted back to his room, where he collapsed in a sooty, grime-ridden heap on his bed and fell fast asleep, dreaming of his lady.


	24. The Slippers

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**The Slippers**

_"_This done, she gave her a pair of glass slippers, the prettiest in the whole world..._"_

-_Cinderella_ by Charles Perrault

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"The prince lives and grows in strength. Thank you, my friend. You have my gratitude and friendship.

"Now, this gift. One more of your tasks is complete."

He offers a varnished, white wood box.

Isumbras lifts the lid and beholds the fairest thing he has ever seen. It is more beautiful than the necklace of icicles.

A pair of elegant slippers of hand-blown glass, gleaming like a thousand rainbows, sits on a lush, velvet cushion the color of wine. He runs one finger over the curve of a toe, and feels the glass give a little, like soft leather or brocade silk.

The glass glitters like a thousand shards of crystal, like a thousand droplets of water shining with early morning sunlight, like a million jewels beneath the shallow water of a lagoon.

Peach, aquamarine, burgundy, topaz, lavender, cobalt, lemon, emerald, star blue, twilight skies and dawn mornings, valentine evenings and divine rainbows, are all reflected in those slippers.

"Thank you, my King."

"Now, Isumbras, Thain of the Shire, you must go to the Elves. For Spring comes, and we can do no more to aid you in your quest. But," there is a twinkle in the King's eye. "I expect an invitation to your wedding feast."

"Of course, my King."


	25. A Painful Task

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**A Painful Task**

_"Take back your heart... hitting hard, muscles twist in agony..."_

- _Dance Floor Metaphor, _the Cruxshadows

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Her father is wrong- she can still weave.

Luckily, she is finished carding. It would've been vicious agony to pull brambles and burs from the fur, then card it so that it is clean and soft and combed.

Now she has help- her little brother, Nencarion, and her sister Nimlothel, are twisting the fur into little fibers so that she can, painfully, spin it into thread.

If her father finds out, he will have them whipped bloody.

As she spins, she can hear the bones of her fingers grinding together everytime she moves her hands, and tears roll down her cheeks. She bites her lip till it is crimson and wet with blood, but she keeps spinning.

"I love him," she says to herself. "I love him."

She spins, and when the spinning is done, she will weave.


	26. Lothlorien

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Lothlorien**

_"There's an elf witch... of terrible power... all who look upon her fall under her spell...__"_

-spoken by Gimli, _The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_

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Her feral eyes, like star sapphires and cobalt flame, pinned the Thain to the spot.

"Who are you, little Shireling?"

Her voice is cold and clear as star light.

"A man in love, Your Grace," he whispers. His answer makes her smile almost kindly, if something so otherworldly and ethereal can be attributed with something so human as kindness.

"What do you wish in the Golden Wood?"

"I must... the Dwarves said... that you could help... I need to find a dress of white rose petals, with neither stitch nor seam. I need to find a cape of swan feathers, freely given, and a crown of moonlight."

"And do you remember who you must give these things to?" She absently toys with a braid of molten gold hair. He stares for a moment, then thinks of hair like silver moonlight and golden honey and winter fire, long and curling and beautiful.

"Anoreloth," he whispers. His heart pounds, his throat burns as if he as swallowed dragon's blood. "I am not under the spell of Elves, milady, for I love my lady more than life and breath and sunshine and good, tilled earth."

"Then I will help you. Come with me."


	27. The Queen's Garden

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**The Queen's Garden**

_"She must water the sleeping garden and cause it to bloom..."_

-Spoken by the White Rabbit, _the Care Bears: Adventures in Wonderland_

.

.

When he follows her into the rose garden, the rich fragrance of the blooms washes over him like the waves of the sea.

White petals like snow flakes fall around him. He keeps his eyes focused on the crimson sash tied around the Elf Queen's waist, the only thing bright and stark enough to stand out against the pale roses.

"These blooms are special, both blessed and a blessing. I water them with the clear water from my Mirror."

"And... I can use the petals from these blooms?"

"The petals must fall of their own doing, their own will. Never must you pluck a single petal from these roses, or your task is ended before it has begun, in defeat."

"When will the rose petals fall?" The Thain asks her softly. A sick sense of dread fills his chest.

"They will never fall, unless an immortal child waters the great thorn blooms with its tears."

He stared for a very long moment at her, at her perfectly serene face and wild eyes. Then he cried, _"WHAT?!"_


	28. Immortal Tears

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**Immortal Tears**

_"_With each moment of despair, lay to heart a lovely tear._..."_

- _Tears, _the Cruxshadows

.

.

There was suddenly someone in the garden with him and the Elf Queen. Someone who walked ever so slowly, almost hobbling, through the vine covered archway that leads into the garden.

"My lady!"

Anoreloth stumbled forward, and he caught her, helped her to a wooden bench beside one great, white-blossomed rose bush.

"Oh, my love, your poor hands..."

For the hands that were once fair and lily white and slender are now black and violet with bruising, flecked with white spots where the bones were broken, and they are fat with swelling.

"Your poor eye, my love..."

He gently caresses the whiteness of her skin around the blackened eye socket.

"Who has hurt you this way?"

She only shakes her head, her tangled hair falling about her, and begins to cry. She only wished to see him, to let him hold her.

"I have the necklace of icicles, and the slippers, my lady. And the Lady Galadriel will help me with the gown, the cloak, and the crown. We'll be all right, my dearest. And when we're wed, no one will ever hurt you again."

She is still crying even as he touches her shoulder- he is afraid to touch her hands, or kiss them. And her tears fall upon the leaves and petals of the bush they sit beside, and slide into the moist earth.

As she lays her head against his chest and closes her eyes, shuddering with her tears, the petals begin to fall.


	29. The Gown of Rose Petals

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**The Gown of Rose Petals**

_"'Clad in skeleton leaves and the juices that flow from trees'..."_

- _Peter Pan, _JM Barrie

.

.

He refuses to let the lady out of his sight, and she refuses to accept a Healer's aid. She refuses to speak, merely keeping her face pressed close to the Thain's jacket.

Isumbras aches at the sight of his lady's broken hands, the sight of the bruises mottling her fair skin. But the two sweethearts merely wish to see the Elf Queen work her magic.

She sits upon a white chair, and in her fingers she holds a needle of mithril, thinner than anything. There is no thread in it.

But it is as if she is sewing, sewing each and every petal together so that it makes a silken, ivory cloth. She does not cut it, or give it seams. It seems to simply mold itself into the shape of a gown.

"This in an art lost to nearly all the Elves," she whispers. "Do you know what I am doing?"

The two lovers do not.

"You, Lady Anoreloth, must go. Your father is returned to his fortress. But your love is strong, and so is your faith. Do not waver, either of you. You will see each other again. Until then, be careful and be true."

And suddenly his lady is slipping from his grasp and stumbling away through the roses, quickly out of sight.

Galadriel finishes the dress of rose petals as the sun dips beneath the horizon.


	30. Seven Swans, Seven Brothers

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**Seven Swans, Seven Brothers**

_"Swan, white swan, gliding across the lily pond..."_

-_Swan Song, _Sleeping Dogs Wake.

.

.

The Thain of the Shire stared out across the midnight black waters of the lake in Lothlorien, the Lady's Lake, with a glazed expression. He feels pain burning him alive, searing him like the fires of Thorin's forge, and tastes despair melting like bittersweet candy on his tongue.

What was happening to his lady in his absence? Who was abusing her this way? Why couldn't he be with her to stop it? And why wouldn't she speak to him?

Suddenly, he heard the bugling trumpet-cry of swans, and saw seven beautiful white-plumed birds descending from the moonlit sky with the pale, milky light on their wings.

They came down upon the surface of the lake, and Galadriel's voice sounded from behind him.

"They come, Shireling, to give you greetings, to help you with your task, and also give you news of your lady."

He turned to the Elf Queen, and when he turned back, before him stood three men, three youths, and a young lad. They wore white and black livery, and stood at an easy attention, like practiced soldiers.

"Who are you?" Isumbras demanded.

"We are the seven brothers of Anoreloth. We are here to speak to the Thain."


	31. The Shirt

**Chapter Thirty**

**The Shirt**

_"What would you do without me... what would you wear?"_

-Beauty, _The Cannon Movie Tales: Beauty and the Beast_

.

.

She stitched one final stitch, and then tied the knot and cut the thread with her tiny sewing knife. She laid the fur shirt down upon her wooden chest, smoothing out a small wrinkle.

"Is it done?" Nencarion asks excitedly. She ruffles her littlest brother's hair awkwardly with a bony elbow, and nods. "So can I go with our brothers?"

"Yes," she whispers. "Go with our brothers, Nencarion."

He rushes away, grabbing the golden collar he is required to wear with his white and black livery. She is sending her seven brothers to her love with help.

"You'll lose your wings for a time, my brothers," she says, and takes a spool of thread that gleams palely like the light of soft, summer stars. "I thank you for the sacrifice."

She allows her little sister to thread the loom for her, and she slowly, painfully, begins to weave the cloth that will hold the beauty of the stars.

All the while, her eyes sting with tears of pain, and she keeps her gaze on the shirt of white fur.


	32. Nencarion

**Chapter Thirty-One**

**Nencarion**

_"Sadly, yes, she is my sister. She's a little crazy."_

_-_spoken by Aladdin,_ Disney's Aladdin_

.

.

Galadriel looks at the small boy whose eyes gleam with tears. He wears black and white livery, and a gold collar around his small neck. His eyes are like frozen drops of blood, his hair like silken threads of blood. His face is very white, and his ears are very pointed.

"You are the youngest brother of the wife of the Thain."

"She en't his wife yet, milady, and that's why I'm come. My sister wants to tell you, that the tasks of a lover en't... lateral... literary... somethin' like that."

Despite his inhuman appearance, the boy is in fact that- a boy, and speaks like it.

"Literal," the Queen supplies gently.

"Yeah, s'right! Literal! She says it en't gotta be literal. Not everythin', leastways. Some stuff, yeah. But the Thain's allowed one or two tweaks, see, 'cause he's mortal. So, since I loves my batty ol' sister more than anythin' and all, I wanted to pass on the message."

"Do your brothers know that you speak this way?" She asks gently. He blinks and shakes his head.

"No, my lady, they do not," he mumbles. She laughs and murmurs, "Then do not let me stop you from enjoying yourself while out of their presence."

The boy smiles, and Galadriel sees that he has all of his baby teeth still. This boy, Prince Nencarion, will one day be someone dangerous to be reckoned with. But for now, he is only a boy who loves his sister.


	33. News

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

**News**

_"All the world will be your enemy, Prince of a Thousand Enemies. They will try to kill you, but first they must catch you: runner, listener, prince with the quick warning."_

_-_spoken by Frith, _Watership Down_ by Richard Adams

.

.

"You were... you're..."

"We're her brothers. We think she's mad to take up with you, but once one of our kind falls in love, it is swift and vicious and unstoppable. Our father doesn't remember, but we all know of it. We have all felt the pang of it, the ache and agony of it. We understand. So we will help you."

The six who were once swans are tall, taller even than the elves, and dark haired. Their hair is like jewels and metal spun into silken threads- the sapphire of stars, the emerald of trees, the aquamarine of lagoons, the glitter of silver and gold, and the gleaming of obsidian.

Their eyes gleam like a myriad of precious stones, lit from within with a cold flame. It makes Isumbras cold to look upon them.

"Our sister is being punished as we speak for loving you. If you fail at your tasks, she will be given to the Orcs for sport, and then executed. If that happens, we'll slaughter your entire family, down to the last child."

The cold in the Thain freezes into icy dread.

"We will give you all the help we can, but it is not much. We give you our wings."


	34. Snow in Summer

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

**Snow in Summer**

_"Like ice on the rivers in the middle of summer..."_

_- Lady Sylvia of Dhemlan_

.

.

Amaranth Took stares out her bedroom window, wondering when her brother will return. He has gone in search of love, looking for the woman he claims he'd seen transform from a swan on the surface of a Shire countryside lake.

But as she looks out her window, touching the velvet of her snowy white curtains, it is not her brother that remains in the front of her mind.

The sky is clouded over with darkness and steel gray, like a summer storm coming swiftly as a wolf after its prey.

And then it begins to snow, and a terrible fear shivers down her spine.

Something evil is coming.


	35. Missing the Sun

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

**Missing the Sun**

_"She said when the sun next rises. Obviously, the sun wasn't going to rise."_

_-Lord Khardeen of Magre_

.

.

Stolen.

Her father had stolen her thread, the thread that shone like the blazing disc of the sun rising over the eastern mountains at dawn, the thread that gleamed like the fire of burning roses and molten gold.

She searched desperately around her room, tears streaming down her face every time she accidentally smashed her hands against anything.

Where was it? Where had he hidden it? Surely he wouldn't simply take it away from her!

He's broken her hands, and now... now he'd taken her thread, and she had no way to escape and get more. She could not make her sun cloth.

She would be unable to complete her tasks.


	36. Swan Gift

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

**Swan Gift**

_"Like ghosts, like great, soaring spirits they moved across the sky... long necked, broad winged, white as the crest of a wave, their wings beating in solemn rhythm..."_

_-Daughter of the Forest_, Juliet Marillier

.

.

Feathers.

Feathers as soft as silk, and rigid as bone. White as moonlight, dark as snow, gleaming like pearls and alabaster.

Six white jackets on six brothers..

"No needle will pierce, no blade will cut, no stitch will hold," said the eldest man. His hair was like dying coals, his eyes like brilliant summer.

"We must give them to you, freely, in their original form," said the oldest youth, with hair like emerald thread.

"But we will do this for our sister," says a voice behind him. The Thain turns and sees a boy, the only child, with hair and eyes like fresh blood. "Take the gift."

And in a gust of wind, to the sounds of trumpeting, seven swans rise into the night, flapping their wings as they soar into the sky.

Then it begins to snow.


	37. Like Snow In June

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

**Like Snow in June**

_._

_"There'll be snow in August before this... is set to rights..."_

-Cook_, Nanny McPhee_

.

.

Snow.

That's what he thought it was at first, soft white flakes of ice falling from the sky in the middle of June. But no, it wasn't that. No snowflake was ever so big, even to one of the Little Folk.

They were feathers. Huge, shining, whiter than snow or moonlight. They floated gracefully to earth, and the swans were slowly sinking to the ground.

All except one, the smallest. It was gliding back towards where the Elf Queen of Lorien stood, and when it landed before her, it was again the slight and small form of Nencarion, the boy with all his baby teeth and eyes of blood.

The other swans fell to earth as the feathers did, in a slow, languid drifting down. When they landed upon the earth again, they were men.

All around them, the feathers swirled about on little eddies of air, like giant snow flakes.


	38. A Conversation About Myth and Legend

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

**A Conversation About Myth and Legend**

.

_"History became legend. Legend became myth. And some things that are... forgotten... lost..."_

_-_Galadriel,_ The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_

.

.

"You hasta kill it, see," Nencarion informed the Queen. He scratched at one pointed ear. "The Silver Hind, you hasta kill it and use its skin. Elsewise, ya en't gonna be able to finish. He en't got what it takes to make that cape right now, see, milady? He needs the skin of the Silver Hind."

"But he was forbidden to kill any creature."

"No he en't, miss. Er... milady. Trust me, I know. My sister told me. He en't allowed to kill the swans, a course, and the wolf he en't allowed to kill, neither. But that's it, see. Everythin' else is free game, milady. And the only way to set them feathers is to use the skin of the Silver Hind."

"Why is that?" Galadriel asks him. He shrugs.

"No idea. Anoreloth said something 'bout it bein' a legendry object. It en't no ordinary hind, see. The Silver Hind is the Queen's own beast. It's magic. And Nanny Bess, my sister's old nurse, she says it too. The Hind, well, that's its job. It's gotta do what ye say. Once it's dead, a course. When it's alive, it en't gonna do nothin' but run from ye."

"And he needs this?"

"Yes, milady. But he's gotta kill it twice."

"What?"

"Yeah. The second time, it'll do the last thing he needs. Then someone else has to kill it again, to finish the task. Well... someone else could kill it for him, I s'pose. I don't know, I en't ever asked. But I could find out."

"I do not understand," the Elf says, a little helplessly.

"Course not. Yer an Elf. Ye en't one of my people. It's all right. Oh, an' yer gonna need me, too, milady, but that's all right. I'd help ye for nothin', I would."

"Why is that?"

"For Anoreloth."


	39. A Mirror Made of Ice

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

**A Mirror Made of Ice**

.

_"Do you know what this is? It's a mirror..."_

_-_The Snow Queen_, Hallmark's the Snow Queen_

.

.

Ice.

Cold and sparking sharp, knife of clear white diamond, razorblade reflection in the mirror. It is a mirror of ice, flat and without depth, without life or heart.

Like her.

The Snow Queen, whose name is never uttered, never recorded, for fear she will come and freeze you to death, stands naked before the mirror, running her hands over her body. She is like the wicked Queen of a fairytale, obsessed with her own beauty, though it is heartless and without warmth.

In the mirror she sees herself, her ice cold perfection that hurts mortal eyes to see, because it freezes the blood in the body.

"Show me the Thain," she commands. Her voice is like the groan of glaciers, the cracking of ice on the rivers, the frigid winds of December. "Show him to me. I will freeze his heart."

"You cannot," says a voice behind her. It is her brother. "We cannot kill him."

No, he is right. She cannot kill him. But she can watch, and spy. She has her mirror of ice. She can ruin any chance he will ever have of winning the fair lady Anoreloth. And besides...

She turns to her brother. He will not look at her, or at the mirror. Somehow, he manages to look at nothing.

"When will you be going to the Shire to pick up our guest?"

"Soon," he says, and the Snow Queen smiles.


	40. Golden Arrows

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

**Golden Arrows**

**.**

_"Hunter. Noun. A person who searches for or seeks something. A person who hunts game or other wild animals."_

_-Dictionary . Com_

.

.

Gold.

Everything about them is gold.

The wood of the shafts gleams in the light, as if it is living metal, growing from the earth like the mallorn trees of Lothlorien. It shines, it ripples with light. He touches it with gentle fingers, and it is smooth and sturdy, not soft and malleable, as gold is.

The fletching is gold. The Elves did not create this fletching. Nencarion, the blood-haired boy, brought the arrows with him when the seven swans arrived. He will not say where the feathers came from. But they are rigid as bone, like the swan feathers, only different. These feathers seem to burn hot, like molten metal.

Even the points are gold. This is not soft, shapeable, weak gold. It is like steel, like mithril, yellow as the sun, as the Elf Queen's golden hair. It is magical, the Thain can feel it.

He looks at Nencarion, who offers him an ordinary wooden bow.

"When you see two white fawns, follow them, but do not shoot. No harm must come to them, or you will be cursed for all time. They will lead you to the Silver Hind. Beware the Black Hart. He will try to kill you if he sees you."

And the boy leaves him alone in the forest.


	41. White Fawns

**Chapter Forty**

**The White Fawns**

.

_"It's the White Stag! The White Stag, who will grant you wishes if you catch it!"_

_- The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_, CS Lewis

.

.

Stars.

A flash of white, like stars, through the golden trunks of the trees.

The Thain turns, scanning the trees. A rustle of leaves, another flash of white, and another.

Two tiny fawns burst through the undergrowth and come to a quivering stop before the Thain. They are whiter than snow, whiter than swan feathers. They nearly scald the eyes to look at them, so bright are they. Their eyes are like shining jewels the color of the sky.

The tiny creatures, no higher than a hobbit's waist, look into his eyes for a moment, and it seems they're full of gentle and sweet understanding.

Then, like a firecracker, they bolt into the underbrush, and Isumbras rushes after them.


	42. Spindle and Shatter

**Chapter Forty-One**

**Spindle and Shatter**

.

"_Touch the spindle... touch it I say..."_

-Maleficent, _Disney's_ _Sleeping Beauty_

.

.

The cane comes down on her hands again, and the last joint shatters in fragmenting agony. Brilliant sparks of fiery pain dance along her hands.

Anoreloth looks up into her father's eye, tears making her eyes sparkle like gems. It is not the agony in her hands that brings tears to her eyes. It is what he has done, the wreckage he has showed her.

Her spinning wheel is in fragments, splinters of wood no longer than a baby's finger. The only piece left intact is the spindle, the long and needle like spindle, with which her father is currently fiddling. The light catches on it, ice cold and silver shimmering. There is a frigid chill to the light.

Her father kneels, smiling kindly. With practiced precision, he stabs her with the spindle in one of her beautiful eyes.


	43. The Silver Hind

**Chapter Forty-Two**

**The Silver Hind**

.

_"I would never hurt the Hind."_

-Hercules, _Sci-Fi Channel Presents: Hercules_

.

.

Running through the forest, darting through the trees, following ever and always those two tiny, gleaming white fauns. The Thain runs for all he is worth, his heart pounding, his breath scalding his throat, his legs burning. But ever and always he keeps the golden arrow ready at the bow to shoot.

Spark of silver, beautiful and bright, like a new coin.

He sees her, the Silver Hind, running along side him. He suddenly knows that she is going to kill him, run him down and trample him with her dainty, cloven hooves, thinking he is a danger to her babies.

Even as she leaps at him, he turns and fires the arrow, and it finds her heart. She falls upon him, nearly dead, and her hooves cut him, breaking some of the bones in his hands.

She looks at him with her dimming eyes. They are black, so very black.

"I did it for love," he whispers. "I did it for love. I need a cape made of swan feathers. Your skin must serve as the anchor for the feathers. I am sorry."

She licks his cheek, and dies. He, in turn, surrenders to oblivion beneath the crushing weight of the dead deer.


	44. The First Wish

**Chapter Forty-Three**

**The First Wish**

.

_"Make a wish... make a change..."_

_- some song_

.

.

When he wakes, several hours later, his hand is splinted, he has been dressed in a sleeping shirt of soft silk, and he is in a very comfortable bed.

Beside him sits the boy, Nencarion. He is bleeding from a cut on his cheek. He bends over a piece of glimmering, metallic leather in the shape of a cloak. Beside him is a bag full of feathers.

He does a curious thing- touching the pen of each feather to the bleeding cut on his cheek and then putting the feather to the silver hide.

"She done what you asked her," he says. "When the Lady found you, the Hind was already skinned and tanned. I en't surprised- that's the way the Hind works. So now I just gotta put these feathers on."

"With blood?" He asks before he can stop himself.

"Do you know what I am?" Nencarion's voice is suddenly very different. It is no longer the voice of a boy. The Thain replies, "No."

"Then don't ask questions. You got your wish- the Hind helped you to make the cape of feathers. You could not have done it without her. So be grateful and don't bother me."


	45. A Mirror of Clear Water

**Chapter Forty-Four**

**Mirror of Clear Water**

.

_"Will you look into the mirror?"_

_-Galadriel_

.

.

The Elf Queen stares into the cool, serene waters of her mirror. She wonders what has called her here, for the mirror gives a faint stirring, a ripple, small enough that it would only attract the attention of the Queen of Lothlorien.

She gazes into it, letting her mind fall into the soft state of being where the water flows into her thoughts, showing her the crystalline futures, the ancient past, and the gleaming and fractured present.

Nencarion dipping a white jacket into an ever spreading pool of blood, letting it soak into the cuffs of his shirtsleeves and stain the knees of his trousers-

A hobbit maiden, frost forming on her lips and over her nose, clinging to her lashes-

Black swan landing upon a lake in the countryside-

One of Anoreloth's people, a lordly man, an icicle piercing his heart-

Lothlorien in flames-

She staggers back from the mirror of crystal water, heart thundering in her breast. What was the meaning of the hobbit maiden under the unnatural spell of winter? And the man with the icicle in his heart? The black swan?

What was going to happen to her beautiful realm? And what was Nencarion doing with that jacket... and that blood?


	46. Like Swan Wings

**Chapter Forty-Five**

**Like Swan Wings**

.

_"When I think of my childhood, I think of... (swan )wings... and garnet eyes..."_

_-Danica Shardae_

.

.

Nencarion stands after a long time bent over that leather hide and those blood-dipped swan feathers. He stretches, feeling his spine crackle.

"Is it finished?" The Thain asks.

"Yeah, it's done. See?"

He holds it up for inspection. The silver hide gleams through the feathers, sparkling like stars peaking through misty wisps of clouds. The feathers, once so rigid and lifeless, are now soft and thrumming with the force of magic and life. When the Thain touches the cape of swan feathers with his broken hand, he feels how downy soft it is. He can smell the wildness of it- it carries also the scent of lakes and springs, rivers and mountain streams.

Here and there, the bright crimson speckle of the young boy's blood shines like tiny rubies.

"What are you, Nencarion? You asked if I knew. I do not. Will you tell me?"

The boy carefully folds the cape and walks towards the door, only stopping right before the threshold to murmur, "I dip my jacket and my cap in the fresh blood of battlefields. When I am a man, I will be able to call blood to me. I will always have my milk teeth."

And he walks out of the room.


	47. A Breath of Winter

**Chapter Forty-Six**

**A Breath of Winter**

**.**

_"He will be a handsome prince under a curse..."_

_-The Witches of Eastwicke_

.

.

The young man that walks up to the door of the Took Estate is fairer even than Amaranth herself, who is the fairest hobbit born in centuries. The man has eyes of blue-green-gray, like a frozen pond in winter. His hair is white, white as snow or old age.

Tall for a hobbit, but handsome, and not so tall that he is unattractive to one of the Little People.

He arrives as the snows swirl down from the sky, vicious stormy winds blowing the snow so that everything is blanketed in glistening white.

"Who are you, stranger?" The lady Amaranth asks.

"I am... Alastor. Alastor Wintersmith," says the Ice Prince.


	48. Despair

**Chapter Forty-Seven**

**Despair**

.

_"Do not let your hearts be troubled..."_

_-Galadriel_

.

.

"He en't as happy as I thought he'd be, milady. I en't never seen no one so gloomy to get stuff done as that un', I en't," Nencarion says to Galadriel. "What's he want to go an' be so glum for?"

In truth, it is because he has three tasks yet to complete that seem more than impossible. The Thain must forge a crown of moonlight- how is he to do this? And the moon upon the chain- how is he to chain the moon? And the white wolf's fur... how is he to get it, if he cannot slay the creature?

Despair.

Aching despair.

It is a frigid stone in his chest, weighing down his spirit until he is sure there is nothing left.

But Nencarion knows a way to change things. He is one of the Liemuina, after all, the Hidden People. He will one day be a king, though he does not know this yet. And he will one day be able to call blood, as his grandmother once could.

Nencarion knows a way to save his sister.


	49. The Star Bottle

**Chapter Forty-Eight**

**The Star Bottle**

.

"And for you Frodo Baggins, I give you the light of Earendil, our most beloved star..."

-Galadriel

.

.

Galadriel holds the bottle in her hands, marveling at its craftsmanship. She did not make this treasure- her husband, Lord Celeborn, fashioned it from crystal, water, and starlight.

The water within the glittering phial holds the milky, pale light of the cold, clear, beautiful stars. It shines from within. It glows with the power of Elbereth Gilthoniel, Star Kindler, Queen of Heaven, when the wielder is in danger from evil. Its soothing light brings peace, and chases dark dreams away.

Can it also be the key to the next task? A crown of moonlight... surely if they can hold the light of stars in water and crystal, then moonlight is theirs to embrace as well?

Turning the star bottle- the first of its kind, made as a betrothal gift long ago- over and over in her long, elegant hands, her feral eyes taking in every gleaming angle and curve, every glittering star.

It might just work.


	50. Cloak of Stars

**Chapter Forty-Nine**

**Cloak of Stars**

.

_"The mantle of heaven..."_

_-Dancing in Her Hand,_ the Bitter Pills

.

.

She has no sun thread, but she has hope. She would have asked her sister, Nimlothel, for aid... but her little sister is currently chained up in their dungeon.

So she can only work with what she has.

She still has her star thread, which she has woven into star cloth. It gleams like the midnight velvet sky, studded with diamond sparkles. It is black, and white, and gray, and silver, and no color and every color, violet and blue and green and void...

And she has stitched it, turned it into a beautiful cloak.

A cloak of stars.

Now she must weave cloth of the moon, to make her moon dress. Then... then, she will have to see what she can do about getting more sun thread.


	51. Following Orders

**Chapter Fifty**

**Following Orders**

.

_"We're paid to follow orders..."_

-Asher Mahonin, _Doom_

.

.

The storm has only worsened. Everything is covered in ice. The wind howls like a pack of wolves. Snow whites out everything in the Shire. There has never been a storm like this in the Shire before.

The Ice Prince feels a slight thaw in his heart, against the influence of the storm. The hobbits in this place are kind to him- they feed him, they allow him to remain cold against their better judgment, they keep him sheltered, concerned for his well being. They do not realize that he could walk through the storm with impunity.

And the lady... Amaranth. She is such a kind, gentle creature... like the most tender shoots of spring, pale green and fragile. He feels almost cruel to deceive her.

But he must follow his sister's orders.

He must seduce Amaranth Took, and take her back to his sister... and to her death.


	52. The Second Star Bottle

**Chapter Fifty-One**

**The Second Star Bottle**

.

_"Two... are better than one."_

_-An old proverb_

.

.

"I have a gift for you, my young lord," Galadriel says to Nencarion. He scrubs at a splash of blood on his cheek and looks up at her from his crouch on the ground, blood-eyes gleaming. It looks as if he has been crying.

"Thanks, miss. What is it?" He scrubs again at his cheek, at the crimson smears.

He has blood hair, blood eyes. Does he have blood tears?

"This," and she gives him the second star bottle, one of only two in the world. Soon there will be three, and only once more will she have one created, the fourth, ere she leaves Middle Earth forever, and this one will be a gift to one like the Thain.

"Miss... milady..."

"Go and take it to your sisters. They need your aid. Tell your sister to touch it to her wounded hands- they will heal. Do you understand," and here, she smiles at him, a flash of mirth. "Do you understand, little child with the red cap and jacket?"

He smiles, too, showing those eerie little milk teeth.

"Yes, milady. I understand."


	53. Nencarion the Spy

**Chapter Fifty-Two**

**Nencarion the Spy**

.

_"I wanna know everything about everything! That's why I'm going to be a spy..."_

_-Harriet the Spy_

.

.

Nencarion has never had to play the spy in his own home before. But he loves his sisters- his own dear twin, Nimlothel, and his gentle, elder sister Anoreloth. He loves his distant, absent minded, petting mother, and even his six brothers.

But not his father. He hates his father with a passion. And it is on his father that he must spy, because he does not know where his sister is.

So when his father, the King, carefully tucks a great ball of thread like peach sunrise and crimson dusk, dawn fire and morning embers and twilight coals, away in the cupboard only he- and of course, his young, lock picking son- can get into, Nencarion knows to take it, and tuck it into his favorite jacket, freshly dyed with the blood of a wild boar that attacked him at the castle gates. It rests safely beside the star bottle meant for his sister.

Then he goes, and sees his sister chained to the dungeon wall. His twin, bleeding from the stripes her father has give her, so that her lily white skin and ivory curls are stiff and tacky with maroon blood, and her pretty, cream colored dress is torn and bloody, fills the boy with a deep hatred.

But for now, he will let it lie. He will go to his sister with the ball of thread and the bottle of starlight.


	54. A Kiss of Frost

**Chapter Fifty-Three**

**A Kiss of Frost**

.

_"I just don't like winter, that's all..."_

_-_Gerda_, Hallmark's the Snow Queen_

.

.

He has been in the Shire a month. The storm has continued all that time. The crops of the Shire are failing, the animals becoming ill. So are the children. Many are freezing in their homes.

He will have to go soon, or someone will be coming- one of the Maiar, perhaps, in human form- to investigate what it is that is occurring in the hobbits' homeland.

And so he carefully woos the lady of the Took Estate, Amaranth. He is close, now. It is a soft night- the snow has abated a little, so that it falls softly and the wind does not blow like a gale. He can take her now, give her that which will put her under his thrall- the kiss of the Ice Prince, the kiss of frost.

And so she is looking at him with her innocent, upturned face, and he leans in, and ice cold frost touches her warm lips, and does not melt, but turns her flesh cold as winter.

She melts into his arms.


	55. The Third Star Bottle

**Chapter Fifty-Four**

**The Third Star Bottle**

.

_"Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight..."_

_-A common children's saying_

.

.

The Thain now has hope.

In the night, Galadriel comes to him, where he sits upon the shores of the Elf Queen's lake, gazing up at the full moon, desperate and heart-broken yearning written upon his face. And in her hands is the third star bottle.

There will only be one more- and that will not be for over a thousand years yet.

She shows him the bottle- it is her wedding gift to him. With it, she gives him hope, for he now sees how they might create the crown of moonlight. First, they must create a crown of crystal and glass.


	56. Little Knife

**Chapter Fifty-Five**

**The Little Knife**

.

_"Just a little cut, and then gone! Forever!"_

_-_Marisa Coulter_, the Golden Compass (2007)_

.

.

The Prince of Smiths, the half-Dwarf known as Thorin, stares into the blazing, crimson fires of his forge, feeling a sense of dread burning in his veins. He has seen the purpose of the little knife, the one that the Thain must carry.

But it is not for the Thain to wield- not that little knife. It is only his task to bring it to the demon with a child's teeth, the monster on the side of light and goodness. That one will wield the little knife that is edged with poisonous wormwood and icy death, and take vengeance for the blood of his heart.

That, at least, is what the fire says.

That little knife will find the heart of poisoned blood, and cut the festering canker from his family's flesh, so that it is gone, never to return. That, too, is what the fire says.

But Thorin fears for his apprentice, and the lady he loves. He fears greatly.


	57. The First Princess

**Chapter Fifty-Seven**

**The First Princess**

.

_"You are and always will be _**my**_ little princess."_

_-_Capt. Crewe_, A Little Princess (1994)_

.

.

It is hatred, nothing more, that gleams and smolders in Moreloth's heart. She has always been jealous of her twin sister- hating how much Nimlothel loves her, hating how much their seven brothers love her. Hating how much her mother has always loved her.

The Queen has always loved Anoreloth more than Moreloth, because Moreloth is a monster.

But the King loves Moreloth more than any of the rest of his ten children. Moreloth is like him, dark and shining and shadowed. Nencarion is dark like the King, but he is so young, and it is the fate of those princes who wear the red cap that they will long to be light and glittering and sun-kissed. The others are undecided still- shadowed, but glittering in the dark.

But Moreloth is not. She does not glitter.

She is darker than midnight, darker than hell.

Darker than evil.


	58. The Other Princess

**Chapter Fifty-Eight**

**The Other Princess**

**.**

_"It was the other little girl..."_

_-Agnes Nitt_

.

.

Tears.

It breaks the torturer's heart to see the tiny dew drops of pain glittering on the princess's face, but he has his orders. She must be punished for helping the third of the three princesses.

But she is so young and so sweet.. and her bright eyes like the flower elanor are glistening with golden hurt.

When he breaks one of her tiny fingers, she does not cry out, though tears come.

He has seen only one other with such a strength of will, and the torturer is afraid of that one- Nencarion, he who will one day wear the crimson jacket and the scarlet cap.

And Nencarion will kill him for this.


	59. The Last Princess

**Chapter Fifty-Nine**

**The Last Princess**

.

_"He kidnapped me and locked me in there to die!"_

_-Neverending Story 3_

.

.

Another day.

She carves with her knife, feeling tears threaten. Her heart yearns to give up, but she will not. It would kill her to give up hope of ever seeing Isumbras again.

Her knife point sank into the wood of the wall underneath her tiny, narrow bed, and she hauled on the point until it scored a line in the soft wood. How many days had she been here?

She couldn't remember anymore.


	60. Nencarion's Gifts

**Chapter Sixty**

**Nencarion's Gifts**

.

_"I've brought you a gift."_

_-Jareth, the Goblin King; the Labyrinth_

.

.

Being the child who will one day wear the red cap and jacket is difficult. For one thing, it means that many beings wish to kill you, anticipating the day when you will kill them and dip your cap and jacket in the spreading pool of their blood.

Nencarion rushes up the stairs to the door to his sister's prison.

He has the star bottle tucked safely inside his inner breast pocket. The refreshingly cold, clear feeling of starlight pulsing against his chest is wonderful to him. It moves his sluggish blood like nothing else possibly could.

In his white-knuckled hands he clutches the shimmering-dawn ball of sun thread.

Looking furtively about, he sees the coast is clear, and he ducks into his sister's prison, making sure that the door does not latch behind him.


	61. A Gift From the Princess

**Chapter Sixty-One**

**A Gift from the Princess**

.

_"That's what I've done. I've scattered largess."_

_-Sara Crewe, A Little Princess_

.

.

The minute he is inside, he throws his arms around his sister, who holds him fiercely to her breast. She does not mind that his jacket is damp and sticky, tacky with the blood of a dead boar.

"Here," he says. "Take this, use it on your hands, it will make them better-"

"No."

"But why?" He cries. The sight of his sister's mottled, brutalized hands brings tears like crimson droplets rolling down his white cheeks.

"Rescue Nimlothel, and use it to heal her. I know you've seen her. I do not need help- she does."

"But I-"

"Do it," she says, and puts him away from her. He can hear her bones grinding together when she closes her fingers around his narrow shoulders.

"Then... take this, sister." He thrusts the ball of thread at her, throws his arms around her again and presses two kisses to her face, one on each cheek. They are very wet, with tears and blood. Then he rushes from the room, locking her once more in her prison, barely in time to avoid the guard coming in to check on her.


	62. Nencarion the Healer

**Chapter Sixty-Two**

**Nencarion the Healer**

.

_"The hands of the king are the hands of a healer..."_

_-Return of the King, JRR Tolkien_

.

.

Blood.

There is blood everywhere, a great pool of it spreading to every corner of the room. Nimlothel has no idea there is so much blood in one person.

Nencarion stands over the torturer, his cheeks smeared with crimson. He does not spare a glance for the fallen immortal- he has eyes only for the tortured, bloody form of his sister.

"Sister, my twin, wait and I'll have you loose."

He grasps the steel manacles, hissing as his flesh blisters and burns. He pays no attention, except to see that the iron-based metal has eaten away at his sister's wrists like acid until he can see the pale, sickening gleam of bone in some places. He is surprised she did not bleed to death.

She falls into his arms, and he cradles her as he pulls the stopper from the star bottle and dribbles a little of the water onto her bloody wrists.

It does not heal the damage, not exactly. But it mends a little, sealing the still oozing blood vessels and numbing the ragged, flayed skin. He can use this on the bleeding lash marks on her back and the jagged cuts on her beautiful face.

Then he will get her out of here.


	63. A Miirror Made of Black Glass

**Chapter Sixty-Three**

**Mirror Made of Black Glass**

.

_"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest one of all?"_

_-Snow White_

.

.

The Queen is vain, so she has a full length mirror in her private chamber.

The Queen is a witch, so the mirror is made of obsidian, polished until it is smoother than glass, and holds a perfect reflection. With it, she can make mirror magic.

The Queen loves her children- except the mad daughter who the King loves in natural ways and perverse ones- and so she uses the mirror of black glass to observe them, protect them, and work dark magic on those who would harm them.

And it is because of these things that the Queen sees Nencarion cradling his battered and broken twin sister to his heart, weeping tears of blood from his blood red eyes as he trickles something that glimmers with light and magic on his sister's wounds. And it because of this that she finally decides who she will fight for.

The answer, of course, is her children. Starting with Nencarion, Nimlothel, and Anoreloth.


	64. Nencarion the Outlaw

**Chapter Sixty-Four**

**Nencarion the Outlaw**

.

_"Will you join my band of merry men?"_

_-Robin Hood_

.

.

"You can't break me out, brother."

He ignores her. He cannot afford to entertain the thought of failure. He cannot afford to entertain the thought of anything except that pain is necessary to do what he wants to do.

Setting his sister down gently on the wet floor, he can't help smiling a little as the crimson stains her tattered white dress. To him, it is a comforting sight, proof that in his father's madness, there is still something that makes a little sense, like the ever creeping stain of blood.

Then he shrugs it off and slams his face into the back wall of cell. Bone crunches, cartilage snaps, and blood begins to gush. He cups his hands under his nose and lets the crimson liquid fill his hands. Then he flings it at the lock on the door, listening to the familiar sizzle and the smell of burning metal. Fairy blood and iron were mortal enemies- especially when it was the blood of one of those who wore the red caps.

When the melted iron lock falls off the door- along with a small portion of the door- he scoops up his sister, blood still flowing from his nose, and carries her out.


	65. The Queen's Gift

**Chapter Sixty-Five**

**The Queen's Gift**

.

_"My, how time flies when you're dead."_

_-Disney's Hocus Pocus_

.

.

The Queen is vain, magical, and loving. But she is also fleeting and constant, eternal and momentary. Her name was once Tempus Fugit, in a language that was old and new. But she has a different name now, one that is never uttered by mortals.

Yet even with that name, and the power that names give, she still retains her old powers, at least in part.

When Nencarion comes to one of the servants' entrances to the stronghold, it is almost completely deserted, except for the feral, blindingly terrifying creature that makes his child's heart ache with the love of a son, still young and pure, for his mother.

"Take this, my little one," she says. "My little red cap and jacket. Nencarion. Son of the Red Waters."

She tosses him a small leather pouch. From the feel of it, it holds sand, or grain. It is heavy as the ball of a mace. The pouch's edges are embroidered with a vine going through a year- the gleaming green and fresh buds of spring; the rich green growth of summer; the golden and crimson leaves and the browns of autumn; the bare, skeletal branch and hanging icicles of winter.

"Time flies, my dear one," she says. "Take my gift, and go. You will know what to do with it."

His mother steps aside and motions for him to go through the door.

He nods and flees with his sister through the doorway and into the darkness. His heart reaches back for his mother's embrace, for that fleeting moment where she laid her hand on his shoulder.


	66. Secret and Safe

**Chapter Sixty-Six**

**Secret and Safe**

**.**

_"But he was a murderer, which meant Lyra could trust him."_

_-The Subtle Knife, Philip Pullman_

.

.

Eyes like water emeralds, sea green and weed green and jade green and water green. Hair like lank reeds, except the color of pale, undyed silk. Skin like river mud. Lips like quicksand of the soul. But it is her smile that reminds him that once, they were both children, and once, they were friends.

She smiles, and her teeth are full of reeds, water weeds, rushes, and midge larvae. The feeling that smile gives most people is similar to Nencarion's baby teeth.

"Jennifer," he says. That's not her name, but it is what the Halfling children call her when they whisper about ghosts and ghouls and demons after lights' out. "Jenny."

She smiles, and begins hauling herself out of the pond he has found. Her arms are crooked and bent, like her legs, almost like the legs of a spider. She begins crawling toward him. For a minute, he is afraid that she has forgotten.

"Jenny Greenteeth," he calls. "I am Nencarion the Red."

She stops. She remembers. He can see it in her eyes.

"Take my sister to your mother and hide her away until I return. Please, Jenny?" He whispers that last, ever so softly. "Please, Jenny? I need your help."

"Give her to me," she says. You could drown in her voice- she knows that, and so does he. "I will protect her, and do as you ask, until you return, on the condition that you grant me what is my right."

"To drown the naughty hobbit children?"

She nods.

"I may be a prince, but I do not have that right. I cannot grant you this. I am not king, or first in line, or second, or third. I am last, the seventh son of a seventh daughter. I am nothing, but the one who will wear the red cap."

After he has gone away, she says, "You are the seventh son of a seventh daughter, but you will be king, Son of the Red Waters."


	67. Nencarion and the Dwarf King

**Chapter Sixty-Seven**

**Nencarion and the Dwarf King**

.

_"Blood is thicker than wine..."_

_-A variation of an old saying_

.

.

"What do you want, boy?"

Nencarion kneels before the Dwarf King of the Misty Mountains. He is a prince, but he is the seventh son, and the tenth child. This Dwarf is a King.

"I come to you on behalf of Isumbras Took, Thain of the Shire. I am the youngest brother of the bride."

"And what do you want?"

Nencarion is not sure, but the gruff voice may have softened a little.

"My sister has asked me to help the Thain complete his tasks. So I come to you to ask if you will help with yet another task- the crown of moonlight."

"Even Dwarves cannot fashion beautiful things from light and breath. Once, perhaps, but not now."

"I know a secret that I may only tell your greatest Smith. If my father hears, he will slay my sister. But I have been told your Smith has old blood. So I ask that you take me to him, that he may help us."

"Very well, young prince. I will take you to the Smith."


	68. The Queen's Own Tasks

**Chapter Sixty-Eight**

**The Queen's Own Tasks**

.

_"You are cold... how did you become so cold?"_

_-the 10th Kingdom_

.

.

"Bring me my gods' sisters," the Queen of the Fairies commands her handmaiden.

Her heart is a great, stinging bruise in her chest. Her poor children: Anoreloth, imprisoned. Nencarion, doing the work of a grown man. Nimlothel, broken and battered. Her six other sons, now flightless because of their sacrifice for their second oldest sister.

The fairy Queen's eldest gods' sister- an Elf maiden, wife of an Elf King- comes into the room without so much as a knock, followed by the youngest gods' sister, a shriveled old crone of a Hobbit with white hair.

"Erynmir, my sister," she said to the oldest. "I need to go to your country. Will you allow me safe passage there?"

"Of course," the Elf Queen said.

"Cymbeline, my sister," she said to the youngest. "I need someone to weave a white shirt and coat for my youngest son. The cloth must be woven from the Snow Queen's hair. I also need for him a pair of blood red boots and blood red gloves, a blood red tunic and blood red breeches. These must be woven from the hair of the Queen of the Scarlet Cloak. Finally, I must have a red silk sheath for a little knife, made for my son, woven from the hair of a She-Hind and dyed with the blood of a Hag.

"Will you do this for me, here, in the safety of my bedroom?"

"Of course," the Hobbit crone said.

"Then, Erynmir my sister, I go with you to Mirkwood."


	69. A Conversation About the Son of the King

**Chapter Sixty-Nine**

**A Conversation About the Son of the King**

.

_"You've actually given consideration to how you would kill the Hogfather (Santa Clause)?"_

_"Oh, yes sir. And the Tooth Fairy, and the Soul Cake Duck (Easter Bunny). And even Death."_

_-Lord Downey and Mr. Teatime, the Hogfather_

.

.

"I have a job for you, Runner. I want you to slay the youngest prince of Faerie."

"You mean, you wish me to kill the Boy of Blood, the Son of the Red Waters. He who will one day call blood and, with a thought, be capable of slaughtering everyone who has so much as a little cut on their finger."

"He cannot do this if he is dead."

"This is true."

"Kill him. He cannot drown, and he cannot be bled to death. Iron corrodes at the touch of his blood."

"How am I to inhume him, then?"

"I don't care, but you are going to kill him, or I will kill the Lady Janice. Do you understand, Runner?"

"I understand, O King of the Fairies. I understand indeed."


	70. Blue Wizards

**Chapter Seventy**

**Blue Wizards**

.

_"I love the mountains, I love the rolling hills..."_

_-some song_

.

.

"You say there is trouble in the place known as the Shire?"

The Blue Wizards stare at the Dwarf King, surprised. Has he not heard of the brutal and unnatural snow storm that has blown in the Shire for the last couple of months? And that the Thain, one of only three important government posts, has gone missing, and that the betrothed of the Master of Buckland, the Thain's own sister, was kidnapped by a stranger that arrived in the Shire and seduced her?

A small black bird, a rook with gleaming feathers and a sleek body, flaps its wings and takes off. Honestly, the rook had thought that two-leggers had more sense than to gossip on a mountain top.


	71. Black Assassin

**Chapter Seventy-One**

**Black Assassin**

.

_"Should of, would of, could of..."_

_-a common saying_

.

.

He was once a man, a great king of men, and king and guardian of other beings, some too fantastical to even belong in the world of the Fairies.

But the most fantastical of them all had been his Queen. She, that regal and sparking, electric and powerful creature, with the feral face and the hair like spun moonbeams, sunshine, and starlight, who had slipped away from him and his little sister, the Princess, and the Lady Janice.

He thinks, as he thinks everyday, that he should have been with his Queen that day that she crossed the river. If he had been there with her, instead of paying court to a minstrel from another kingdom, then she would not have died crossing the river. The greedy flood waters would not have destroyed the bridge, would not have swept her feet out from under her and sucked her beneath, drowning her.

Years later, after the death of the next Queen, his sister, and the court magician, there were only two humans left in his kingdom- himself, and the Lady Janice.

His kingdom was gone. Now, there is only the Lady Janice, training young fairies to become warriors, and himself.

And he is nothing but a killer.


	72. Thorin the Master

**Chapter Seventy-Two**

**Thorin the Master**

.

_"That's what happens to sand when it's struck by lightning."_

_-Sweet Home Alabama_

.

.

The boy has spoken. Thorin is surprised he did not see the solution long ago. Of course he does not need to fashion a crown literally of moonlight- it just needs to be of moonlight in someway. Some integral way.

"I will need glass, pure and perfect and magical glass."

Something in Nencarion is moved to speak to this Smith, the only adult he has ever seen who truly intimidates him.

"Use a third of this," the boy said. He holds out the pouch his mother has given him. When the Smith takes hold of it, his gaze softens, and for a moment his eyes shine with pity. He now knows who this boy is, and what he will do.

"Very well, boy. I will use one third of this."


	73. Rumors

**Chapter Seventy-Three**

**Rumors**

.

_"Objection: hearsay."_

_-common courtroom saying_

.

.

Rumor.

That was all it was. The mutterings of Dwarves on the mountain tops. The tales that old women mumbled to children around a hearth fire on a cold winter night.

But the Rook had said it was the truth...

Radagast couldn't exactly believe _that_. Though willing to gossip, birds didn't have the best memories for facts. Theirs was a knowledge of seasons and safety, avian legends and appropriate lands to live in.

But stirrings in the Shire out of season... hobbit officials gone missing... the Smith working on a secret project... and the arrival of a boy with eyes like blood...

Dare he keep this to himself?


	74. Hair As Red As Blood

**Chapter Seventy-Four**

**Hair as Red as Blood**

.

_"Red as blood..."_

_-Snow White_

.

.

For a moment, the old Hobbit lady thinks she might faint. She has met the Prince called Nencarion, but he is only a child yet and does not yet have the... the true appearance of what he is and what he will become.

But this queen... she does.

Smile. Her teeth gleam like pearls. Her lips glisten like ripe, red berries... or fresh blood. Crimson eyes glitter. Hair as long as a waterfall drapes like a cloak over the milk-white flesh of her body.

"You require my hair?" The red-eyed queen whispers. Her voice is the sound of blood gushing from a wound.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Very well," she said. "Which eye can you see me with?"

Terror.

Sheer, unadulterated terror.

But she must speak the truth. She must do this for the Queen of the Fairies.

"Both."

"Give them to me," she says. And the poor gods' sister to the Fairy Queen screams as they pluck out her eyes.


	75. Wildfire

**Chapter Seventy-Five**

**Wildfire**

.

_"I want you to burn..."_

_-Burn, Jo Dee Messina_

.

.

Sweat sizzles. He has never worked so hard in his long life. The forge is willful and rages to be unleashed, to shape metal as it would.

Blood boils. He has cut himself on pieces of metal, on jagged rock, on the edge of his hammer. He is exhausted, and as his blood drips onto the fire, as the flames of his forge blaze white hot, he does not care that his blood boils.

Muscles scream. He has pounded into the night. His hands are blistered, the flesh cracked and raw and red. His back is burned and smeared with soot, his face is dark with coal dust. His fingernails are crimson and purple with blood blisters. When he blinks, he feels grit in his eyes. His legs ache. His chest burns from breathing smoke.

Glass shimmers. Like rainbows, like light, like diamonds and breath. He pulls the piece from the fire, sets it in the water, and listens to the steam.

It is done.


	76. A Crown of Glass

**Chapter Seventy-Six**

**A Crown of Glass**

.

"_With a crown upon her head..."_

_-The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_

.

.

Perfection.

Pale violet and alabaster of gleaming stars. The golden blazing of suns. The soft ambience of moonlight.

Candle light flickering in the darkness. Smoldering embers in a shadowed room.

Every diamond facet of the crown- a beautiful circlet of crystalline glass- glimmers with every sweet light that has ever graced the world.

It is hollow like the bones of a bird.

Delicate, elegant, perfect.

A crown of glass.


	77. To Weave A Sun

**Chapter Seventy-Seven**

**To Weave the Sun**

.

_"There she weaves by night and day... and at the dawning of the day..."_

_-The Lady of Shallott_

.

.

She weaves, but she is very tired. She has never been so tired in her life.

Her hands ache, her eyes blur with weariness. Her back aches from being bent over her spinning wheel and from sitting at her loom.

Now she weaves steadily, ignoring the pain in her back and in her hands. Her shoulders burn with fatigue. She has not slept in days- she does not know when her fingers will be broken again, when her spinning wheel and loom will be taken away. Therefore, she must do her best to finish as quickly as possible.

She's having a hard time keeping her eyes focused on her work- the sun cloth blazes like high summer, nearly blinding her. She keeps a dark cloth wrapped around her eyes to save her vision, feeling the warm silken threads come together with the tips of her fingers.

Soon she'll be able to make the shoes.


	78. The Black Horse

**Chapter Seventy-Eight**

**The Black Horse**

.

_"I need to see a man about a horse..."_

_- A common saying_

.

.

Part of him struggles not to step back in fear. Another part of him struggles not to rush up to the steed and throw his arms around the creature's neck.

His mother has shown him this creature before- the Royal Stable breeds them especially. They are one of the two "horses" bred for war by the fairies. They make up a huge part of the Royal Navy.

This creature is sleek and dark, gleaming like a black pearl, with eyes that glow like green fire. The razor sharp, black hooves leave wet hoof prints on the dirt path. Its mane drips beads of water down its neck and flanks.

"I need a horse," Nencarion whispers. "Please don't drown me."

_I will not hurt you, Your Highness. Where must you go?_

"I must travel the width and breadth of Middle Earth for my sister."

The kelpie- a water horse, the kind that drown naughty children- nuzzles the boy and kneels before him, murmuring, _It would be my pleasure to carry you, Your Highness._


	79. Hair As White As Snow

**Chapter Seventy-Nine**

**Hair as White as Snow**

.

_"... as white as snow..."_

_-Snow White_

.

.

The Hobbit known as Cymbeline hobbles into the court of the Snow Queen. This is the fairy queen's sister's court. But she is not here to see the Snow Queen, or even the Ice Prince. She is here to see the Queen's consort, the fairy known as Killing Frost.

The newly blinded Hobbit tapped with her stick and clutched the arm of the Thief Child- son of the Lady Autumn.

"What is it you wish?" Killing Frost asks the old Hobbit kindly. She croaks her reply. "My hair? I shall certainly oblige-"

"Now, now, my love," the Snow Queen whispers. For once the Hobbit lady is glad of her blindness. She has seen the Queen before, and the icy beauty of her was blinding as the sun upon fresh, white snow. "Something must be given in exchange."

"My Queen-" Frost begins, but the Hobbit, knowing what might come of this, only whispers, "Other than my life, for it is sworn to another, I will give you whatever you ask in return for the hair of the Killing Frost.

"Lady Cymbeline!" The Thief Child cries. He cannot believe she would say such a thing. But the Snow Queen smiles her icy smile and murmurs, "I want your legs, old woman. Let us see if you can walk out of here with the precious gift you so impudently demand from the Court of the Snow Queen."

In the end, Cymbeline came away with enough of Frost's hair that she had enough to fulfill the second task of the Queen's.

The Thief Child carried her away on his back.


	80. Will O' The Wisp

**Chapter Eighty**

**Will o' the Wisp**

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_"Jingle bells, jingle bells..."_

_-Jingle Bells_

_._

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"I need a favor," Anoreloth murmurs to the tiny light flickering like a firefly upon the sill of her barred window. "I need a great and nearly impossible favor. Please."

The tiny light jingles and flickers in response.

"I need you to go to Lothlorien, to the Hobbit prince waiting for you there. I need three locks of his hair. Can you do it?"

A jangling discord scrapes against her ears.

"Of course you can. How stupid of me. _Will_ you do this for me?"

A tiny tinkling tune fills the air. The light flits about the room, glancing off of her spinning wheel, her loom, the chest full of her completed tasks, her tiny bed, her single candle. Then it landed upon her outstretched hand and tinkled at her.

"Thank you."

And she blew a gentle breath against the tiny light and it flits out the window.


	81. Wind Lord and Radagast

**Chapter Eighty-One**

**Wind Lord and Radagast**

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_"The Eagles... it's the Eagles!"_

_-The Return of the King_

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"I need you to find Gandalf."

The King of the Eagles folds his wings and stares with his piercing golden brown eyes at the Brown Wizard.

"Long have I been a friend to you and Gandalf. Why do you seek to use me as a messenger pigeon?" That deep voice, like a warm southern wind. "Is there danger he must be aware of?"

"Yes," the Brown Wizard says. He is aware of what a great favor- and a demeaning thing- it is to the Wind Lord. "Something terrible is afoot in the Shire... and one of the doves migrating from the Golden Wood has told me that strange things have been happening there. Will you go to him?"

The Wind Lord mantled, fluffing the great, glossy feathers of his wings. Then, as he turned to leave, he replies, "I will find Gandalf."

With a great gust of wind, he takes off from the mountainside, flapping his great wings as he disappears from view.


	82. Wind Lord and Red Wing

**Chapter Eighty-Two**

**Wind Lord and Red Wing**

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_"Cat body... eagle beak... talons... oh no... a gryphon."_

_-Squire, Tamora Pierce_

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It is rumor, surely. The King of the Fairies must be mad to do such things, and to his own children no less. But that has nothing to do with Gandalf... and the griffin's summons had been so insistant...

"His only marriageable daughter is in love with a Halfling. The Queen's half-brother, it is rumored, has kidnapped the Thain of the Shire's sister. The Thain has gone missing. And it is rumored that the King has plans to wage war on the Shire if his daughter's suitor comes through in regards to his quest."

Gwaihir Wind-Lord stared in shock at the griffin known as Red Wing. This was indeed news that the Grey Wizard should know.

"Will you go and tell him this as well?"

"Yes," the Wind Lord replied. "If you will go to Lothlorien and wait for something. You see, I received an urgent missive from your wife..." The Eagle explained, and the griffin nodded.

"Go well, Red Wing."

"And you, Wind Lord," the griffin replied, and flew away.


	83. Nencarion the Rider

**Chapter Eighty-Three**

**Nencarion the Rider**

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_"Their hooves were made of steel... their hot breath he could feel... horses snorting fire..."  
-Ghost Riders, Johnny Cash_

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It is like swimming through air- the kelpie he rides moves faster than the wind, pounding like a war horse beneath him, surging like a wave.

The world passes by in flashes of green, brown, gray, blue, and black. The days pass in what seem like minutes. He is drowning in time, drowning in magic as the black horse gallops across Middle Earth, leaving him breathless.

"Are we almost there?"

_What's wrong, Rider? Don't you have your sea legs?_

"Why are you making fun of me? I was just asking a question! I'm worried about my sister and her... um... future husband."

_Well, don't be a coward. Hang on and don't scream! It hurts my ears!_

"I wasn't screaming- ahhhhhhh!"

The kelpie bursts into a charge, and Nencarion nearly swallows his tongue as they plunge off a cliff.

"I'm going to die!"

_You're not going to die, shut up!_

"Why do you hate me!?"

_I don't hate you, I just find this amusing. Now hang on!_

The kelpie lands in a splash in a great, rushing river and begins swimming with the current, as Nencarion murmurs, "I love my horse, I love my horse, I love my horse." The kelpie only chuckles and continues to swim.


	84. AN

**Ten Things**

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Okay guys. Here's what's going on.

**One**- I'm supposed to be getting married in 2 months (middle of December about) and I have things to plan. It's taking up a lot of my time. I apologize, but there it is.

**Two**- I'm desperately trying to get a job. After all, hubby can't support me and himself all by his lonesome.

**Three**- My comp is broken, so I only have computer access between5 and 11 in the morning. I can't get up at5 every day unless I go to bed at 8 or 9 the night before, and sometimes stuff comes up that prevents me from sleeping until midnight or later.

**Four**- I was out of town and unavailable on the comp for 5 days, the last day of which was this past Wednesday.

**Five**- I had inspiration for another fic in the few days beforeI went out of town, a House, MD/vampire fic called "_Suck_."

**Six**- I've been desperately struggling to get through _Eragon_ and _Eldest_ by Christopher Paolini because his 3rd book, _Brisingr_, just came out and I only have 2 weeks to read the thing.

**Seven- **I've been getting ready for Halloween.

**Eight-** I've been watchinga lot of TV: House, MD; the Mentalist;Criminal Minds; Law & Order: Criminal Intent; CSI: Las Vegas; NCIS; and Young Dracula, cutest vampire show for preteens ever.

**Nine- **I've been working on a romance novella for Harlequin-Silhouette's Nocturne Bites, and it's taken a while to get it finished. I finally got my last critique back from my Grandma on Tuesday (big romance and vampire fan). Now I just have to send it in to HS.

**Ten,**** _and most importantly_**- My grandfather died of cancer on Thursday, so I haven't really felt like writing much since then.

I'm sorry guys, but all_Lord of the Rings_ fanfiction ison hold for a while. Not too long- a week or so more, that's it. I apologize for the delay, and I hope to punch out the next chapter soon. Until then, bare with me.

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Loves to all my readers,

_LA Knight_


	85. In the Bleak Midwinter

**In the Bleak Midwinter**

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_"In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan... in her maiden bliss... worshipped... Beloved... with a kiss...."_

_– In the Bleak Midwinter_, Christina Rossetti.

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Winter.

All around, the howling winds and bleak gray storms raged, ravaging the Shire, sucking it down into the bleak, black death of the cold, dark season. Everything is winter in the Shire, though the sun begs to shine. His half-Sister would love this land of ice and snow. Did she not say "Let the whole world be as ice?"

And in the bleak midwinter, unnatural season wrought with magic out of its proper time, Alastor Wintersmith, the Ice Prince, holds the ice cold body of Amaranth Took in his arms, and tears like chips of ice cut his eyes.

He has kissed her. Will she die, surrounded by this unnatural winter? Will his and his sister's magic slay the only mortal to ever show him kindness?

"Alastor...." She whispers his name like a sweet, soft prayer. His heart is like a lump of ice in his breast. And her heart....

Her heart... he can taste the warmth of her heart on the sweet softness of her lips. He can taste the hot, living breath in every kiss he wishes to steal from her rosebud mouth. And are her lips not sweet? Are they not warm and soft? He can taste the heat of summer and the glow of spring sunshine on the rose petal softness. He can feel her life force, her summer warmth and the sweetness of her as she lies so still in his arms, his name still on his lips.

But she is dying... dying in this bleak midwinter... dying in his arms.

_._

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**Oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oO**

_It's been so long since we checked out the Ice Prince and Amaranth, I thought we should see what they're up to. So we did. Yay. I'll try to update at least 2 or 3 chaps a week. Try, mind you. I'm working full time, and it takes an hour to drive to and from work, AND come Monday I won't have computer access for a couple weeks (eek). Just and FYI._


	86. Dreams of Dancing

**Dreams of Dancing**

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_"Dancing bears, painted wings, things I almost remember.... glowing dim as an ember...."_

_-Once Upon a December, Anastasia Soundtrack_

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Isumbras moans in his sleep. This is only a dream, and it torments him.

He loves to dream of the wild, feral creature he seeks to take as his wife. He loves to dream of the silk of her white gold curls, the flash of her feral eyes like the raging sea- such a cruel mistress, the sea, but his love is never cruel. He longs to hear her voice, to see her face, to know the touch of her soft, pale hand in his own. And yet....

And yet, he hates to dream of her because she is so far out of reach. He yearns to be with her, to save her, to help her, to take care of her. And he is forced to remain, languishing in the prison of Lothlorien's golden boughs laden with silver leaves and white flowers. He hates the Golden Wood, and all it represented – his imprisonment, his lady's torment, their separation from each other. It made his heart writhe.

But in this dream... in this dream, she is dressed like the moon, silver white silk clinging to every curve and kissing her skin with a pearlescent glow. Her shoes, slippers like the sun, make only a sweet whisper upon the white stone floor that glows with its own light. Her hair is silver with starlight and diamonds.

She is like an illusion, a flickering, dancing image in his mind, a mirage in the face of his aching reality. Can he truly believe her real? But no... no, this agony is a dream only.

"Do not think," she whispers, and lays her cheek against his. "Believe." A scalding hot tear touches his cheek. "Believe in me, my love. Believe in us."

"Anoreloth...."

"Isumbras," she breathed softly against his ear, like the breath of a soft, sweet October wind. "Isumbras, believe in the dream. In Faerie, all dreams have truth in them. Believe."

And they danced.

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I wanted to give Isumbras and Anoreloth a happy moment. I hope this is happy, in a melancholy kind of way.


	87. One Cold Winter's Night

**One Cold Winter's Night**

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_"One cold winter's night... I followed her voice to the river...."_

_-The Haunting,_ Kamelot

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He had done it. He had disobeyed his half-sister the Snow Queen. He had released Amaranth Took from his icy grasp, loosened the bands of winter magic that held her cold, oh so still form in his arms without resistance.

She had no memory of his attack, no memory of the dark chill of death creeping through her veins like a poison, no memory of the blue frosted kisses he'd rained down upon her warm, rosebud of a mouth, no memory of his ravenous hunger for the sweet fire of her life and her mortality, her heart and soul. And he knew now, in the bleak midwinter on this one cold, winter's night, that he would never stop hungering for the life and heat and breath he'd sucked from her lips with his kisses.

"Alastor, come on," Amaranth called to him, laughing. So innocent. So sweet. She did not know what he had sworn to do to her, what he must do, or be exiled, or perhaps put to death. He had given his word... and the Hidden People never broke their oaths.

He would lay his hands upon her again, and touch her, kiss her, seduce her. This time, he would conquer her completely, he vowed as he followed her footprints in the fresh, crystalline snow. Shallow, moon-blue shadows marked her path though the flakes. Like the indigo shadows against her skin as he froze her with a touch of his lips to hers....

"Must I, my Sister?" He whispered bitterly. "Why have you set me upon this cruel path?"

"Alastor Wintersmith," Amaranth called sternly. He could see her silhouetted against the open door in the back of her great Hobbit Hole, with the black ribbon of the frozen stream by her stout little feet. "Come inside before you catch your death."

If only he could, he thought dejectedly, and followed the Took maiden into her home.


	88. A Lick of Frost

**A Lick of Frost**

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_"Jack Frost nipping at your nose...."_

_-A Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting On an Open Fire)_

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Why isn't she frightened?

So very soft. Silk and velvet and gossamer. Soft skin like moon kissed silk, velvet peach soft lips tasting of rose petals and sweet fruits, gossamer strands of gold and silver hair like spider silk brushing against his face as he tastes her satin skin.

Why is she not frightened of him?

So blindingly bright. Pink, pearl, cobalt. Her soft pink mouth like an innocent rose in summer. His name whispered into the darkness by those lips. Pearlescent hair like moonbeams and breath. The sweet cascade of perfumed curls against his face drives him mad. Her cobalt eyes, cornflower blue in her sweet, so sweet face... so trusting, so innocent. Her gaze of delirious blue flowers is cutting at his heart.

He bleeds red.

So does Amaranth. Crimson blood on pearl skin and virgin white sheets. Vermillion so vibrant it blinds him. Scarlet secrets. Burgundy betrayal. All of it so beautiful and painful and soon to be nothing. Amaranth, oh Amaranth, summer flower of his icy heart....

Why was she never frightened of him? Why?

"Alastor...."

And her blood and his are droplets of ruby ice. Frost glitters on her golden lashes. Her eyes close. Her skin becomes cold, her veins like ribbons of blue ice against the too white lace of her skin. Her heart no longer beats. Her breath is like early morning mist. She is cold and lifeless in his arms, but not dead. Merely ensorcelled. He has bewitched her. He has cast upon her his cruel spell.

Tears of ice drops cut his eyes as he looks down into her face, as he covers her with a white velvet robe. He will not take her to his sister so vulnerable. He will protect her in some way.

"Amaranth...."

His sister's laughter cuts his ears as he catches sight of swirling winds and raging blizzard outside of Amaranth's windows. He sees his sister's name in the frost upon the glass, and his name as well, his true name.

Nieninque and Aeglos.  
Snowflake and Icicle.  
The Snow Queen and the Ice Prince.

"Damn you, Nieninque," he whispers. Black fire in his hear, anger and hate. Scalding tears boil in his eyes, burn his face. He gazes upon the ice sculpture face of Amaranth, spring rose with its soft petals. Grief and fury and despair, alchemical mixture more potent than quicksilver, poisons his veins. His heart of ice cracks. Such agony.

"Damn you," he growls with the wailing, howling wolf-and-warg wind. The wind stalks into the house, snaps with teeth and licks with frost at Amaranth. Nieninque will kill his beautiful spring flower... but he has made his oaths and cannot break them. Cannot stop himself, cannot save her, cannot stop his sister from carving out his heart. Cannot... cannot....

_"Damn you to hell!"_

**Oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oO**

So, this originally was going to be very simple, and then I decided I'd make it a poem. But before I did that, in order to make it worth anything, it had to be longer than the first 6 chapters. So the epic of the Thain of the Shire was invented with much effort, then reinvented when I lost my notes. And now it is not JUST the story of the Thain. So I'm not sure what I'll call it now, but among other things, it's the story of how Nencarion becomes King of the Fairies and how a Took ancestor took a fairy for a love. But which Took took which love? Eh? Heheheheh....

Anyway, I'm not sure if the actual events of this chapter came through properly or not, so if you guys review, can you tell me what exactly you think just happened? To make sure I portrayed it well. Thanks much. Toodles.

PS- does anyone want to see me go anywhere in a separate fic with the relationship between Amaranth and Alastor (aka Aeglos?) Just wondering.


	89. Thorin's Hammer

**Thorin's Hammer**

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_"I'm not gonna hurt ya.... Wendy, you didn't let me finish. What I was saying was, I'm not gonna hurt ya. I'm just gonna bash your f—king brains in!"_

_-_Jack_, the Shining_ by Stephen King

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Thorin waited. For days.

Night passed, with the great, pale ember of the moon and the sparking, cold fires of the stars. Day passed, with the blazing forge heat of the noonday sun, and still he waited. The boy, Nencarion, the demon child, was on his way, and in much danger.

A runner in black, intent on death, a grim shade to usher in the end of all life, sprinted after the child. Thorin knew this. He knew much, despite his mountain solitude. He remembered from long ago, when the heat of his heart rivaled the heat of his forge. He remembered who the lord in the black cloak was, his new enemy. Brother against brother, not for the first time.

He knew what the man had once been, before his Queen- that amber haired witch of a mortal woman with powerful sorcery, who founded her kingdom and found her King- and his Princess- the lady like summer flowers and a swan warrior- and his Prince- warrior, hunter, protector- had all been slaughtered. Then there was only the young, sickly court magician and the great barbarian warrior king, and his wise witch of a titian haired queen. Then they, too, had died. Long had the kingdom across the bridge, the kingdom of eagles and the wee folk who were great, stinging, poisonous warriors that came to the call of their queen, long had _that kingdom_ stood proud and tall and strong, its forests deep and green, its castle tall and proud and hidden behind the mists created by its first Queen. He had visited that kingdom whose name was even now lost, been to its beautiful shores before it had sunk beneath torrential floods. It pained him that he would war with its last King, a man he had once called brother.

Thorin hefted his hammer, the powerful hammer given to him by his Dwarf father. Mithril and diamond lightning strikes when he strikes a blow with this hammer. The handle of carved, hardened ebony from the kingdom of Harad is smooth and fits in his palm as if made for him. The insignia etched into the hammer above the grip makes his heart ache. A shield halved by the blade of a sword, crowned with a wreath of pine needles and May belles, those strange flowers that only grew in the Princess's garden.

This hammer was a wedding gift, long ago.

Countless years.

Only yesterday.

He can butcher thousands with this hammer. He can kill a heartbroken king with it as well. He need only wait until the Son of the Red Waters and the Son of the long dead Dark Master arrive at his doorstep.

Then he will kill the once proud King whose sister he wed those centuries and yesterdays ago.

**Oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oo8oO**

Okay, has ANYONE figured out who this man in black is? No, it's not Johnny Cash or Charlie Pride. It's someone from literature. Can anyone figure it out? He's not Satan. Anyone? I make literary references all throughout my series, I want them all found, pwease. I gave you a hint to this man's identity in the flowers carved into the hammer's handle. Does that help? It's literary- a book- but not a classic. Does that help?

Loves to my readers.


	90. Tears of Ice

**Tears of Ice**

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_"Lay to heart a lovely tear…."_

_-Tears_, the Cruxshadows

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Heart breaking, he weeps as he lifts her into his arms.

The wind howls against the door, snarling at him to move quickly, quicker, quickest. The frost scratches and claws at the window, scraping with tiny fingernails made of ice.

Alastor, Aeglos, white right hand of the Snow Queen, cries tear drops of frozen glass pain, his heart shattering in his breast.

His monstrous grief tears out of him like claws, reaches like grasping hands, pulling the inhabitants of the Took Manor into wintry sleep. They will not die, not if he leaves quickly, but he drags his feet. He does not wish to… will not… cannot betray her, slumbering in the wintry prison of the dreams he has trapped her within.

He cannot.

He must, he remembers bitterly, and walks out into the storm with that fading, sweet spring warmth in his arms, tiny frozen tears the only evidence of his passing.

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A/N: I'm on borrowed time (and a borrowed laptop). After tomorrow, expect nothing more until mid-Jan at the earliest. Anything you may get before then is an unexpected Christmas gift. Much love! Merry Christmas early.


	91. Dreams of Winter

**Dreams of Winter**

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_"I walked with you once upon a dream…."_

_-Once Upon a Dream, Disney's Sleeping Beauty_

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Winter.

All around her is icy winter, whirling snow flurries and drifts of banked white flakes like daggers of ice and crystal. The sky is gray overhead, pale and limitless, endless gloom. All around her is white. She can see nothing. She is alone.

Everything there could be is frozen. Trees trapped in great blocks of ice, flowers crusted over with frost until their petals are tiny silvery needles, grass blanketed by smothering whiteness. Her footprints, even, are drowned by the falling snow.

"Alastor!" Amaranth cries, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Alastor, where are you?" She had been with him, she remembered, in her bedroom, and he had kissed her… and then…. "Alastor?"

She shivers. Already her fingers, toes, nose, and ears are numb to the cold. The chill sears her lungs. Tears are wrenched from her eyes by the wind, but they freeze to her cheeks, burning away any feeling her face may have had.

She has to find Alastor, she thought, shaking with cold in her thin nightshift. Before they both freeze to death in this wintry wasteland.

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_Gonna try and post like, a bazillion chaps tonight (at least 25). Two down, 23 to go. Review?_


	92. Tears of Blood

**Tears of Blood**

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_"Boy, why are you crying?"_

-Wendy,_ Peter Pan_

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Nencarion raged. Hot tears of anger poured down his pale, white cheeks, smearing them with crimson. In his fury, he rounded on the strange horse of his people that had brought him to this place of death and carnage.

"Why did ya bring me here?" He demanded, scrubbing ineffectually at his cheeks, smudging the scarlet stains even further. He looks, thinks the horse-creature, like some type of blood-lusting kobold or goblin. Little prince of the red cap and jacket, with all his milk teeth, crying his tears of blood for butchered Hobbits.

The horse-creature surveyed the massacred corpses in the tiny Shire hamlet, at the black and red fletched arrows of white and golden wood in their hearts, and replied, "You weep for those your father butchered. That is very good. You'll do nicely, I think, until the Sunblade is born."

"What?"

"Never mind, my prince," the horse says, and rubs his cheek against the boy's, letting the tears of blood, now more in sadness and horror than in any anger, soak into the soft horse hair. The child clung to the creature's neck, and sobbed, his thin shoulders shaking with grief.

Why had his father murdered these Hobbits?

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_The character called here "the Sunblade" is a major character in the beginning (so far) of my other fic, Luineyende. 3 chaps down, 22 to go._


	93. Black Agnes

**Black Agnes**

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_"Better not mess with a witch. She's a very, very, very nasty girl…."_

_-some children's Halloween song_

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Nencarion does not weep now. His grief is hot, his rage cold. It does not allow him tears, especially not in front of the one of the Drowners.

There are four Drowners- the little, the young, the mother, the old. Jenny Greenteeth, his friend of childhood romps, is the Little Drowner. There is her sister, Segna, the Young Drowner. Then there is Black Agnes, and she is the one he stand before now.

"There are murdered Hobbits in that village yonder," he says softly, sounding more like a prince than usual. "Will you see to them?"

"What good are the dead to me? You cannot drown the dead," Black Agnes replies, showing teeth like jagged chips of jet between her full, red lips. Her lips are a mother's lips, but her mouth is the mouth of a demon.

"I am Nencarion the Red," he says then, staring at her with his eyes full of sanguine scarlet. "You will do as I say, Black Agnes, Mother Drowner."

She cackles, and reaches out a brown, work roughened hand from beneath her cloak made of river weeds and rushes to pet his blood auburn hair. He jerks back, and she cackles again, mumbling, "Wise child, wise child. My Jenny was right to make friends with you. Do you know what else I am, Son of the Red Waters?"

He nods. She is one of the Night Hags. He knows this well. Black Agnes, Peg Powler, and Segna the Gold. Jenny will have no part in night romps attacking children. But the other three Drowners are the Queens of the Hags.

"Will you allow me, Nencarion the Red, to have a romp in your dreams? Dare you to invite in a Night Hag, a rider of nightmares and shadow terrors? Dare you suffer what I may do to you in sleep, little prince?"

He feels the heat and comforting strength of the horse that would drown any other child solid and comforting behind him, and nods.

"Then I will take care of your precious Hobbits, boy. Go now, upon your errand. Black Agnes will not hinder you in any way."

When the child had mounted, and ridden off, the Mother Drowner added with a cackle, "I make no promises about Segna or my own mother, the Powler, though, child. Have a care. Have a great care you do not end up at the bottom of a pond, weeds pushing their way out of your mouth and eyes."

She cackled again.

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_In case no one's figured this out yet, this fanfic is going to be incredibly long (at least 300 chapters), in part because I feel like it and in part because the chapters are so short. So, don't look for the end any time soon. But also, this allows me to introduce more characters (secondary and background ones, I mean) than I would otherwise. I like that part. And now it's four down, 21 to go for my goal for tonight. If I pass that goal, I'll set a new one. Bye._


	94. Hair Cut

**Hair Cut**

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_"In her anger she clutched Rapunzel's beautiful tresses, wrapped them twice round her left hand, seized a pair of scissors with the right, and snip, snap, they were cut off…."_

_-Rapunzel_, the Brothers Grimm

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Galadriel sees all of it, but says nothing. There is no reason to wake the sleeping Thain, or tell him what has transpired. No doubt, it is Anoreloth who has engineered this strangeness in the night. For this is what the Elf Queen sees:

A tiny light, like a flickering candle flame but without its candle, flits and flutters through the night, alighting on branches and stones and leaves, flower petals and the twining ivory architecture of Caras Galadhon. With the light comes the sound of tiny silver bells, beautiful and grave, joyous and rather frightening to any who do not carry the blood of the Eldar.

Finally, it lands like a tuft of down upon the Thain's pillow. Galadriel, with her sharp Elf ears, hears what sounds like a knife being drawn, and the light seems to tug at the Hobbit lord's soft, golden curls falling over his forehead. Three tiny locks of hair, no more than the length of the Queen's little finger, are lifted up and then disappear.

The tiny dancing light with its tinkling bell like sound wisps away, as if it has never been. The Thain has not stirred. No other Elves roam so late into the night.

Only Galadriel sees.

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_Twenty chaps left to meet my quota for tonight. No prob, I only woke up 3 hours ago._


	95. More Precious Than Gold

**More Precious Than Gold**

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_"All that is gold does not glitter…."_

-Bilbo_, Fellowship of the Ring_

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Joy.

Anoreloth cannot keep the pleasure from her haggard face when the tinkling bell voice of the will-o-the-wisp jingles at her than it has managed to bring her back three locks of the Thain's soft, golden curls. The tiny creature even tied the locks up with three soft ribbons, so that she would not lose them.

The lady opened her one good eye, and blinked against the painful brightness of the wisp. It immediately dimmed its glow, and allowed her to look at the sweet silken threads of hair. Like spun gold, the scant inches of curling hair gleamed in the pale ambience of the tiny creature, glinting like real precious metal.

Was the princess happy, the wisp seemed to ask? Was this gift a good one? Had it done well?

Yes, she thinks, touching the curls, more precious even then gold. Oh, yes, it has done well.

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_six down, I think. Now taking a brief break to edit and update "Upon the Wing."_


	96. Alianne

**Alianne**

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_If you were any braver, you would be a lioness…."_

_-_Aslan_, Prince Caspian_

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High above, something with beautiful copper, scarlet, burgundy, and gold feathers soared overhead. The peaks of the mountains were spikes of white ice and black stone against the cobalt sky, but more beautiful than those mountains was the _ravisoron_ that winged his way down to the Eyrie in the mountains craigs.

"Have you come from Gwaihir?" A woman with hair like beaten copper asked softly.

"Aye," said the _ravisoron,_ flexing his claws, kneading the earth with their sharpness. "He said that you did send for me, my lady wife."

"I did. I go to find Gandalf."

"But why?"

Eyes like jeweled violets met his, and for a moment he saw violet flames sparking in the depths of his wife's gaze. She stared into the golden cat's eyes of the _ravisoron _Red Wing, and let her intention be known. Her rage, her helplessness, her grief, her strength, shone forth in hr eyes, and she clicked her tongue behind her teeth, mimicking the sound he made with his wicked, curved beak when his anger burned hotly.

"Because," she said, and Alianne Fletcherson got to her feet and fluffed her long, copper hair. "The King must die."

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oh, dang, a nefarious plot to murder the king. Which king? Anyway, this Alianne Fletcherson is a descendent of a character in a book series I didn't come up with. Do you know who that person is? And I lied about updating Upon the Wing. I'll do that when I feel like (tonight). But not now. Loves to my readers. Reviews?


	97. Wind Lord and the White Child

**Wind Lord and the White Child**

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_"As you have done these things to the least of my children, so have ye done them unto me…."_

_-The Bible_

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He flew over mountain, over forest, over plain and river, stream and lake. He flew above, high in the clouds, searching the earth below for a wandering man in ragged grey robes. Where in the name of the Winds was Gandalf?

A speck of white against the deep blue and white of a river below caught the Wind Lord's attention. What was that? A great fish? Hunger pecked at his belly, and he decided dinner would be a wonderful catch. He tucked his feathered head against his breast, folded his wings, and dived.

Wind whistled past, ruffling feathers, roaring in his ears. His talons outstretched before him gleamed in the light of the morning sun. He screamed, a great hunting cry of a Great Eagle, as he plummeted toward the white fish swimming through the river.

Then he saw the pale, frightened, haggard face of a child struggling to keep her head above water, and tucked his wings in further, plummeted faster, and grasped the child in his talons as if she were made of glass, plucking her from the water. It had been no fish, but a little girl.

He set her gently upon the grassy bank of the river, where she stood shivering and huddling in on herself.

"How did you come to this, child?"

"I fell in," she whispered, clutching the sleeves of her white dress in her tiny fists. "Please... I'm so cold. Can you build me a fire? I… I don't know how."

Instead, he led her to the woods that bordered the great river, a kingdom of stately, regal redwood trees, and found one that had fallen in last night's storm. This grandfather of a tree, so tall and grand, now struck down by lightning, would make a perfect nest. He settled down and lifted a wing. The child leaned against him, exhausted, and fell asleep almost immediately after he tucked his wing around her like a blanket. He would have to find Gandalf later.

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_This might seem like a wild tangent, but trust me, it's going somewhere. Like I said, this is going to be very long (and also epic, if I manage it properly). Reviews make me smile a lot._


	98. Black as Coal

**Black As Coal**

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_"… hair black as coal…."_

_-Snow White,_ the Brothers' Grimm

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The Hobbit known as Cymbeline is weak, but not so weak that she cannot keep her oaths. She has made promises to her gods' sister, the Queen of the Hidden People. She can keep her word, though she has lost her eyes and legs for it.

"Lady Cymbeline," a small voice says. "This is not wise. The Hind will destroy you. No one may enter her forest."

The wrinkled crone of a Hobbit does not hunt the Silver Hind this time, slain by the Thain of the Shire. This time, instead, she hunts for the Black Hind, the twin of the Black Hart. The Black Hind is vicious, cruel, and evil. But Cymbeline cannot leave the lands of the Liemuina, or she would die, so she cannot hunt the Silver Hind, who currently roams the golden wood of Lothlorien.

"Why do you hunt the Hind that is black as coal?" The small voice, the voice of the Autumn Thief Child, asks her.

"For my sister… and for Nencarion, who will be King in his Father's stead, though he is the seventh son of a seventh daughter of a seventh son."

It was then that the old Hobbit woman and the youth with her saw the flash of that which was blacker than coal, black as the darkness of a mine shaft, as a great, black hind with slashing, kicking hooves like obsidian glass leapt towards them through the underbrush.

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_Nine down, 16 to go. Yes, I haven't forgotten about Nencarion's mother and all of her little subplots behind everyone's backs. Reviews?_


	99. Dark Message

**Dark Message**

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"It begins on a dark night, where a dark man waits with a dark purpose…."

-Disney's Aladdin

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The man in black, the hunter, the runner, watches without really caring as the black bird circles high overhead, cawing at him plaintively. From the gleaming, golden chain circling its feathered neck, he knows it is a messenger bird of the mad King. That insane monarch has his own murder of crows at his beck and call.

When the feathered rat decides to finally land, perching on a rock and strutting like a rooster for a moment, the king's assassin glares at it, holding out his hand for the missive clutched in its beak. A slip of paper, rolled into a neat little scroll, drops into his hands. He dismisses the bird and reads the letter, inscribed with the blood red wax seal of the Dark King.

He is not to hunt the Son of the Red Waters any longer. Instead, he is to go to the Young Drowner, Segna the Gold, and turn her to the King's cause. To drown the Hobbit children, to drown the Son of the Red Waters and the White Princess, to drown the King's enemies in foul swamp water, pond weeds, and black river mud.

He turns away from the Misty Mountains, where the Dwarves rule and the prince who will one day wear the red cap and jacket goes for aid. Instead, he turns his feet towards the Shire, where the Halflings dwell. It is there that the four Drowners live in their black pools.

He will go to Segna with this message. And then he will deliver his own message to the Night Hag.

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_I think I'm on 10 chaps down, 15 to go. Question about the movie version of the Two Towers: when Merry gets that nasty Uruk "medicine" poured down his throat and he tells Pippin his unconsciousness was just an act, was he saying that for Pippin's benefit or telling the truth?_


	100. Like a Line of Blood

**Like a Line of Blood**

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_"And the blood shall sing to the blood…."_

_-Queen of the Darkness_, Anne Bishop

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Her sister as brought her a spinning wheel. It is only a loan, but she needs it for but a few moments.

Anoreloth weaves those precious golden curls into a line of fiery crimson thread that she has made from the scarlet stems of fire flowers and the shredded petals of red roses. In that burgundy line glints something like golden light, a glistening shine that makes her smile even in the midst of pain. Those dear curls… she saw them that first time, and wondered that a grown creature could have such curls. Such sweet, soft curls. And now she makes a very old magic with them. She has three locks of the Thain's hair. It will always call to him, like blood calls to blood, flesh calls to flesh. It is very old magic.

Like a line of blood, that scarlet thread, more like a cord, thick like a vein and only two feet in length, will help to call her Thain back when all the tests and trials are over. Like a line of blood against the paleness of her skin, that thread.

It will call him back to her in the end.

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_Eleven down. Yay. I'm getting to watch all 3 extended editions of the Lord of the Rings movies. But then I have to be asleep by nine because I have to wake up at 4. Growl. But reviews? This is my 100th chapter! Yay!!!_


	101. To Cut the Light Fantastic

**To Cut the Light Fantastic**

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_"I blend the mist, I mix the light…."_

_-Teen Witch_, Silver Ravenwolf

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Snip go her scissors. Snip, snip, snip.

She has gone back to her previous task. She has spun the sun thread and from it woven cloth with the brilliance of the dawn and the loveliness of the dusk. And now she cuts the cloth, and with it and the leathery hide of the Silver Hind, died in the juice of the fire flowers so that it glitters golden, she will make her shoes.

Her black scissors are made of obsidian, ebony glass with the sharpness of razor steel, and they cut through this material, enchanted with love, effort, and grief, dyed with tears and blood spilled in hatred, as a hot knife through butter.

Snip, snip goes her scissors, and she cannot keep her smile from spreading across her fair face. Her tasks are not so impossible as she had thought.

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_Anyone ever notice how Gollum pets Frodo in the beginning of the Two Towers? It's kinda weird. But you can also see how much Smeagol cares about Frodo, the first person to do him kindness without hurting him by accident. Sorry, random notice, watching that part right now on my laptop, so... yeah. Reviews?_


	102. A Tear of Time

**A Tear of Time**

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_"Time heals all wounds."_

_-An old saying_

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The black mirror shows much, great and tall and wide and vast as it is. But the Queen of the Dark Court, Unseelie witch that she is, fallen goddess, cannot carry that great mirror of midnight glass with her wherever she goes. She instead carries one much smaller, a hand mirror of black glass and silver etched with the acid blood of the Red Caps, stained nearly black with the foul fluid.

She looks into the mirror, and her heart breaks. They say that time heals all wounds. She could not heal these.

Her gods' sister, eyeless and legless, lying injured in the forests of the Glittering Throng. Her son, weeping into the neck of a kelpie, his shoulders wracked by sobbing. Her six other sons, flightless, are walking into a trap that must ensnare them if everything is to be as it should be. Her daughter, sleeping deeply, wrapped about by rushes and pondweed, her cheek pillowed on black mud. Her other daughter, blind in one eye and half-blind in the other, fingers broken, sick from lack of light and food, trapped in a white tower that is a cage.

Something scalding cut a track into the Queen's cheek. A single tear, more than she has cried in a thousand years. For her children. For her sister. For her people, who are led by the madman she married centuries ago.

For all of Middle Earth.

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_It must suck being a Queen and a good one, and being forced to stand back and let others come to the aid of your people._


	103. Nencarion the Broken Hearted

**Nencarion the Brokenhearted**

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_"A broken heart and a contrite spirit…."_

_-the Book of Mormon_

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Nencarion rides, but his heart is no longer in it. The phantom beast that he rides does not try to frighten him with plunging and lunging, racing and bucking. It knows his heart. It knows that he has suffered a great blow to his spirit.

Being a bearer of the red cap and jacket does not make one bloodthirsty. It makes you solemn, somber. It makes your heart ache when you know blood is spilt. It is a gift, and curse. Nencarion hates being the Son of the Red Waters. He hates being the one who will rule the Red Caps. He hates being a child with the powers of a grown man. He hates feeling the call of blood.

"Do not let your heart be troubled, young Prince."

"I want my sister," he says, scrubbing at a crimson smear that bloomed on his pale cheek below his eye. "Both my sisters. And my mother."

"You have more than two sisters."

"I en't," he contradicts. "Nimlothel and Anoreloth. Just them. And Mother. I want them with me."

"You'll have the next best thing in a moment," the beast replies. "We have just crossed the borders of Lothlorien. The Lady of the Golden Wood will soon be able to give you what comfort she can." After a long silent, the kelpie felt a hot, scalding drop of something thicker than water hit his back, right between his broad shoulders, and knew that the child wept.

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awww! poor Nencarion! Life sucks when you're a Red Cap. So, yeah, no one guessed what Nencarion was correctly, and I made it to chapter 100, so I'm just gonna tell you- he's a Red Cap. More specifically, he's a royal Red Cap. In my fic, there's one born in every generation of the fairy royal families. For other stories about families whelping one fae creature per generation, see _The Secret of Roan Inish_. So, real quick, here's a brief explanation on what a red cap actually IS.

A **Red Cap** or **Redcap,** also known as a _powrie_ or _dunter_, is a type of malevolent murderous fairy. They inhabit ruined castles found along the border between England and Scotland. Redcaps are said to murder travelers who stray into their homes and dye their hats with their victims' blood (from which they get their name). It is said, redcaps must kill regularly, for if the blood staining their hats dries out, they die. Redcaps are very fast in spite of the heavy iron pikes they wield and the iron-shod boots they wear. Outrunning a redcap is supposedly impossible; the only way to escape one is to quote a passage from the Bible. They lose a tooth on hearing it, which they leave behind.

And for a picture of Nencarion's mother, see this link: http:// www. browsersfantasyart . com /AmyImages/ tempus_fugit. jpg (remove spaces).


	104. Black as Midnight

**Black As Midnight**

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_"Black as midnight, black as pitch, blacker than the foulest witch…."_

_-Legend (the movie)_

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The princess kisses her father's mouth as her mother often did, drugging him with sensual silken touches. Black satin drenched with blood, black silk and lace that stinks of death, black velvet crusted in ice. The King sleeps, poisoned into slumber by his perverse lusts.

The princess slips from the room like a shadow and glides down the hall. Her mother would be proud- she has learned to manipulate the mad king as surely as the fallen goddess of time.

She knows, better than the mad king or the queen of her people, what her sickly, so perfect twin sister is up to. She, the black princess, knows what is in Anoreloth's heart. She knows what the bratling child of blood and the loathsome, lily white princess are planning. She knows about the Drowners, and the Black Runner. She knows where Lady Janice is. She knows what her mother is planning.

And she has plans of her own. Smiling, she takes the thin black knife from its place in the sheath between her pale breasts and tests the edge with her thumb. Blood wells, black droplets falling to the white marble floor. Black blood…. Blood black as midnight, black as pitch.

She smiled as smoke began wafting upwards from the drops of blood upon the floor.

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_Watching Return of the King. They must have done something to all the shots of Liv Tyler because she looks all glowy and misty and pretty. Prettier than most women normally look on film._

_Reviews?_


	105. A Glittering Gate of Ice

**A Glittering Gate of Ice**

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_"… like ice…."_

_-Disney's Beauty and the Beast_

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It rises above him, glittering like diamonds, shining like glass and steel. Every razor sharp edge can slice flesh to the bone, but the hungry, thirsting ice will drink all the blood that spills upon it. It is his sister's gateway, the portal to her kingdom, to her palace.

He hates it.

In his arms, the still slumbering Amaranth turns her face into his chest and murmurs his name. His heart groans and creaks like a great glacier. He shifts her into his arms, and reaches out a hand to the gleaming, silvery edged gate.

A swift movement, and his palm is sliced open, straight to the bone, spilling his cold, sluggish blood upon the frosted beams and twining ropes of ice. Eagerly, greedily, it drank that blood, slurping and gurgling. The sight sickened him.

With a groan, the gates swung open, and Aeglos, the creature called Alastor Wintersmith, carried his bruised, bleeding heart into his sister's realm.

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_Back to Amaranth and the Ice Prince! Oh, angsty love! Gotta love it. So, out of twenty-five chapters, I've gotten sixteen as of right now. Yay for me._


	106. Wind Lord and the Golden Maiden

**Wind Lord and the Golden Maiden**

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_"I asked her for one hair from her golden head…."_

_-_Gimli_, the Fellowship of the Ring_

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The king of the eagles blinks sleepily, then jerks in surprise. How could he have fallen asleep? And where is the child he rescued from the river?

Lifting his head, he looks around, scanning the surrounding woodlands, and sees no child.

Instead, he sees a young woman with long, golden hair down to her feet, sitting on a large stone, dangling her feet in a tiny stream so that the water rushes over her pert little toes. She is combing her hair with her fingers, humming a strange, lilting lullaby. Her eyes are like gleaming topaz stones in her face.

"Who are you? Where is the child?" The Wind Lord demands, clicking his beak angrily.

"There was no child when I came here," the maiden says, and meets his gleaming raptor eyes. There is something familiar about her gaze. "There was only the Wind Lord. And now there is me. I've brought you a gift, and ask of you a gift. It is very important."

"What is it?" He asks, warily. He does not trust her. "Who are you?"

"A friend," she says. "I need one of your feathers. Please."

"Why do you need this from me?"

"You are Lord of the Wind," she says. "You are the King of the Eagles. You have great power. I have need of it, great need. There is much that can be done with the feather of one the lord of the Great Eagles. Will you not give it to me? Please?"

Always keeping one eye upon her, he tucks in his head and preens with his wicked sharp beak, finding a loose feather. He closes his beak around the pen of the feather and plucks it out. He stretches out his neck, his feathers prickling, and lays it in her outstretched hand. Her long, slender white fingers curl around it gently, grasping it like a soft, special treasure.

"Here is your gift, strange maiden," he growls, and turns away. "I go now."

"Farewell, Wind Lord," the maiden says, tucking the feather into a pouch on her belt. The special feather is long, longer than her whole arm, rigid tawny silk like a soft blade. As she watches him fly away, glorious flight, and murmurs, "I shall see you again soon, my lord."

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_This is actually important, it's not just a random tangent I decided to go on. I promise you. Toodle-oo._


	107. The Wine of Ages

**The Wine of Ages**

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_"He must drink from the Wine of Ages."_

_-_Elder Gutnickt_, Tim Burton's Corpse Bride_

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The Queen, once called Tempus Fugit, is searching for some special ingredients. After all, only the Queen is considered inculpable when it comes to regicide. And these ingredients will make something very useful.

Smiling, she stops in her garden, her first ingredient to be found at the white wooden gate. Bending down, she plucks three sprigs of three very deadly, poisonous plants.

An umbel of tiny white flowers like a corpse, leaves like viridian lace in a maiden's crushing corset, a stem stained with scarlet like freshly spilt blood….

Beautiful hemlock.

Screaming. That's what it does, it screams. But she was once Time, Fleeing Time, and she has immortality. She fears not the ugly brown baby root that screams as if its dying, that poisons the air with its cries of unhappiness and rage. She merely pulls it up and twists, once, snapping its grubby little neck.

Even the scream of a mandrake does not frighten Tempus Fugit.

And the most beautiful plant of all, with its pale violet flowers, dull as dead flesh, shaped in the form of a funeral bell. Such sweetly poisonous berries, the lush greenness darkening to sick sable death. Beautiful flower, beautiful berry, beautiful death.

Belladonna is the last of the ingredients she will find in her garden. But it is her favorite poison. And it is the key ingredient in the Wine of Ages, the poison from which there is no cure.

Not even for the Fair Folk.

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_Seriously. Doesn't the crazy incestuous abusive nutsoid king need to die? Hmmm? ............ I seem to be in the habit of killing kings in my fics these days. I wonder why. Maybe it's a phase. Maybe I'm unleashing my frustration with my future father in law. Maybe I'm secretly badmouthing God through fanfic code. Who knows?_

_Okay, I'm actually NOT doing that last one._


	108. Worth More Than Its Weight In Gold

**Worth More Than Its Weight In Blood**

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_"Precious Blood, Most Pure offering, procure us every grace!"  
-St. Catherine of Siena's Prayer of the Precious Blood of Jesus_

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Dazzling.

The only way to describe her new footwear is dazzling, absolutely dazzling. They're like fireworks, like the hottest white flames, like liquid molten gold glowing with heat, all the colors shimmering and flowing and shifting along the contours of the solar silk, gleaming and glinting like beams of fiery light on stained glass.

She touches her new slippers, the soft ribbons and the shining cloth. Touches them with broken fingers. Remembers the price she has paid for these beautiful things.

Tears sting her eyes. Her heart aches in her breast.

She slips her dainty feet, so slim and tiny, into the golden slippers of cloth woven of sun thread. This is a gift. She must make swifter progress, but she does well for now. Anoreloth is tired after her labors. She is exhausted, but she is content for now. This wondrous gift, this one completed task, has cost much in blood. She will never forget that cost, the weight of every crimson drop.

She will never forget.

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You like?


	109. Segna the Gold

**Segna the Gold**

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_"Do you truly think me fair, Jack?"_

_-_Meg_, Legend (1972)_

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"What do you want, Son of the Red Waters?"

The woman before him is very beautiful, but Nencarion has seen her look not so lovely before. When she does not care about the way she looks, she has skin mottled white, grey, green, and blue. Her eyes are sloe black, and her teeth are rotted in her mouth. But now she is a beautiful golden haired woman, with eyes the color of emerald waters. Her skin is flawless pearl.

It is all illusion. She is hideous, monstrous. But sometimes, she can be so kind, the elder kin of Jenny Greenteeth.

"I've come to ask for your help," he replies. "The Drow Family have always been allies of the Glittering Throng. My father is planning an attack on the Shire, planning on slaughtering all the Hobbits. The Drowners are strong. They can help. Your mother would listen to you. Will you plead my case with your mother the Powler? If you and Jenny are united with me, surely Peg Powler will have to help."

"You overestimate us, Nencarion the Red. We have not the strength to stand against the King of Darkness and his armies," she says. Her voice is like a babbling stream.

"But any river or pond or lake ya might be in would be a threat to any enemies who might be close by. That's somethin' en't it?" The boy lapses into his street child cant as weariness and irritation threaten to overwhelm him. He is far too young to have so much on his narrow young shoulders. And he does not want to face the furious and frightening Peg Powler himself. Better to have Segna the Gold, who reclined, terrifying and irritated before him, or even Jenny, do it for him.

"You precious boy," Segna murmurs, and reaches for him. Immediately, he jerks back.

"No," he snarls. "I won't let you." He backs up, angry now. It is as if his entire world is crashing down on him. Is there no one to help him and his sister? Why won't any of his allies stand up for them? "You're nothing but a-"

"Beware the sharpness of your tongue, little prince," Segna hisses like a serpent. Her eyes narrow with rage. "It may cost you something more than an ally."

"I'm not afraid of the Drow Family."

"You should be," she murmurs, and quicker than lightning, her arm snakes forward and grabs a hold of his long, blood auburn hair. She hauls him to her, towards the black surface of the water. "You should be afraid, little red cap!" He's digging in his heels, trying to find purchase in the soft, slick mud, but to no avail. Segna drags him to her pond.

With a mighty shove, she forces his head beneath the water.

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_Oh, snaps. Nencarion's gonna die. Oh no! I dunno, actually. Should I kill him off? Should I have this end happily? I had it planned, but I can always change how the story goes. What do you think?_

_Oh, and fried banana slices and fried apple slices, fried in cinnamon and vanilla extract, is the greatest desert ever. No lie. Yum._


	110. The Prophecy of Peg Powler

**Chapter One Hundred and Eight**

**_The Prophecy of Peg Powler_**

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**_"_**_Sword of Omens, give me Sight beyond sight!"_

_- Lion-o, Thundercats_

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Peg Powler is witch and Drowner, a Hidden One and a hag both. She is gifted with Sight, and cursed with blindness. Her mother was one of the three who shared but one eye. She is not so accursed.

Now, the Powler, Queen of Drowners, waits in her swamp water, thinking of the others like her. Black Agnes, Jenny Greenteeth, Backwater Hattie, Meg Mucklebones, Segna the Gold. The Queen of the Swamp Witches knows of the Red Prince's quest. What should she do? What should they all do? Suffer the Black King's madness? Forsake the Princess Anoreloth? Or help the Red Prince?

The Drowner moves, like a shadow beneath the water, a shadow of green slime and black muck. Mudlicks scurry away from her in terror. She has things to do, or she might catch them.

The bowl. It is old, made of bone, stained black with blood and swamp water. Add a bite of Drowner flesh and the old witch spits into its depths. An eerie humming beneath the water. Shadows burn behind her eyes. The old ways are not forgotten in the deep places of the world. Swamps are deep, dark, and full of ancient creatures who know no good or evil.

In the swamp and in the blood, the Powler sees. She not only sees, but Sees. The Queen, old Tempus Fugit, the flying time, and the Son of the Red Waters, and her own granddaughter, Jenny Greenteeth, and the White Princess, and the Thain, and the oncoming storm of the next thousand years. All will be blood and darkness for a while, and only four can bring it to settle. Only four can bring back the light. Peg Powler Sees, and remembers.

**_"_**_Know them by these signs...  
A lick of frost upon her breast,  
A Halfling heart in Fairy chest,  
__A princess in a tower of night,  
__And a warrior with a blade of light...."_

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**_Author's Note:_**_ I know, I haven't updated in forevers. I'm trying to update EVERYTHING! I hope it works. Wish me luck. Lack of Internet makes it hard, though. Reviews?_


	111. Trail of Blood

**Chapter One Hundred and Nine**

**_A Trail of Blood_**

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**_"_**_And the blood shall sing to the blood...."_

_- Tersa, Queen of the Darknessby Anne Bishop_

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Bloodhound. Tracker. That is his name, in truth if not in company.

He follows the line of blood, over the mountains and through the woods. All in black, like the shadow of a shadow, the man who was once a king stalks his prey like a common murderer, loathing what he has become as he hunts down the Son of the Red Waters. He knows not why the Black King wishes his youngest son to be butchered.

**_"_**_I care not how you do it, but kill the little bastard, and kill him now."_

That is what Morquanar, King of the Glittering Throng, has ordered the Runner to do to his son. Nencarion, the seventh son of a seventh daughter, no threat to anyone's kingdom....

For a moment, the Runner thinks he may have lost the trail. Long ago, he did not hunt. He was not bloodhound, tracker, hunter. He was only the Runner, and King of his kingdom across the vast expanse of the sea, unreachable by Men and Elves and other Free Folk. Now he is the Hunter. If his Queen could see him now, he would shame her, and she would hate him.

Bitterly, he begins to run, the wind caressing his face. He smells May belles, those lovely blossoms, and June lilies, which grew in his Queen's garden. His eyes sting.

Blood.

His nose catches the scent. He turns to follow it unerringly. The scent of the belles and lilies fades.

The Black Runner hunts.

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**_Author's Note:_**_ I made a reference as to who this character is. He's a character from another book, but all grown up and very bitter. See if you can guess his identity, and I'll give you a cyber cookie. And I referenced a song and book in this chapter in the text. Guess it, and more cyber cookies. Reviews are awesome. Loves to my readers. And hi, Larner! Shout out to her, she's reviewed every chapter except the newest 2._


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